


For the Final Record

by lillianempire



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Aliens, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Angst, F/M, Family Drama, Gen, Hybrids, Incest, Interview style, Multi, Near Future, North American Union, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-14
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2020-08-23 08:48:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 18
Words: 42,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20240083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lillianempire/pseuds/lillianempire
Summary: Many years in the future, under a new government, ninety-eight year old Dana Scully is interviewed about her life. But there are sinister motivations at play, and is she really as lonely and defeated as she seems? Beware - there is incest in this story. It begins around Chapter 7. There is a mix of narrative styles: interview, first-person, and third-person limited.





	1. Chapter 1

**Anne Link Interview with former FBI Agent Dana Scully**

**As part of the NAU Writer's Project: Interviews of Old Republic Employees**

**August 7, 2062**

_**Interviewer's note:** I recorded my series of interviews in Dana Scully's home between September 4, 2061 to March 11, 2062. Although nearing 100 years old, she appeared to be in good health, of clear mind, and was able to consciously consent to these interviews. What follows are excerpts from October 12-14, 2061, in which we discussed her mysterious and ambiguous relationship with her former partner, the late Fox Mulder (d. March 14, 2041). I have dubbed this series "For the Final Record." Although we touched on Mulder in previous sessions and after, I have decided not to compile those interviews into this particular one. The rest of the interviews will be provided upon Dana Scully's completion of her Privacy Wavier._

**Anne Link:** It is Sunday, October 12, 2061. About 10:05 am. I am in Dana Scully's home, [redacted], NAU. Dana, do I have your permission to record this interview?

**Dana Scully:** Yes, you do.

**AL:** Thank you. Well…where did you want to begin today?

**DS:** You should know by now that this is your ship (_laughs_). You're in total control.

**AL:** I feel like you know what I want to ask you today. We've talked a little about it already?

**DS:** Yes. Yes, we have.

**AL:** Okay. (_Papers shuffling. Sound of DS's coffee cup sliding on the table._) When did your relationship with Fox Mulder begin? Romantic relationship?

**DS:** I don't know if it was romantic…maybe it was. We never had candlelight dinners or any of that. And I'm not sure if "relationship" is the right way to say it. It was more than that. There's a special bond you have with someone that you've saved and they've saved you. From death, from darkness, from everything. I don't know what that term is. Someone should come up with it. I'm too old to think of new things now. But….it was intimate, affectionate long before it was romantic.

**AL:** When did that start?

**DS:** Intimacy?

**AL:** Yes.

**DS:** Probably from the first case we worked. Well, the first few anyway. I had to learn to trust him. Quick. There was a case we worked, in the early days, in Alaska, well…what used to be Alaska. There were these worms, these organisms that if they got into your brain they'd make you go crazy. A person could become completely different. Aggressive, angry. A killer. Not themselves at all. And I was worried it had gotten into him and he was changed, no matter how many times he denied it. It turned out that someone else there with us had been infected with this parasite, not him. He was right. I learned then, in some ways, that he wouldn't lie to me. He wouldn't put me or anyone else in danger, no matter how it seemed. I suppose when you learn to trust someone that way that you also begin to love them. But I always tried, no matter how strongly I felt in any fashion, to keep it, you know, business between us. At some point, it became impossible to do that anymore. For either of us.

_Pauses. Quiet for a few seconds._

I first admitted to myself that I loved him when I thought he loved someone else. Isn't that how it goes? You always want what you can't have? I didn't want to lose what we had, the trust and the intimacy that we'd created. But as soon as this woman, this other Agent, seemed to take him away from me, that was when I could admit it to myself, even though I'd known I'd loved him for a long time.

**AL:** Who was the other Agent?

**DS:** It doesn't matter now. She died in the line of duty.

* * *

_Private Electronic Journal Entry, c. 1998, Dana Scully_

I feel like we've been in this dance, floating around something, but never crossing the boundary into what it could be. What it should be. Does he have any idea how much I want to cross that line? How much I think about it? There is no advice column in the world that could handle this situation. No psychologist or therapist that would remotely understand or would be capable of talking me through this. It's like we've unofficially pushed the pause button on the intimacy between us, so it doesn't grow or shrink, it's in this perpetual suspension. Waiting. I didn't think there was anything that would come along and mess it up, and now there has. If I could go back, just a couple of days or maybe even a year, I would not have let us push the pause button.

* * *

_Private Electronic Journal Entry, c. 1999, Dana Scully_

And now, if it ever becomes even remotely possible that I'll lose him, I don't think I'll be able to bear it…

He left this morning, but my shower, my bed still smells like him hours later. Still warm from what happened last night. He's come to my home many times and left my home many times. But the other night I didn't want him to just leave. I told him I didn't want him to go. I walked across the room and kissed him. He kissed me back as if he'd been expecting it; absolutely no hesitation. We didn't say anything. We didn't take time to measure out the risks or even consider how this would impact the future. I just took him into my bedroom. When I close my eyes and concentrate I can feel him undressing me again, feel myself on top of him, my thighs rubbing against his hips, my hands guiding him inside of me.

That first time was rather quick and frantic, but the second time was slower and more deliberate. His thrusts were slower, his kisses softer. We took our time, it seemed, because despite all that we'd been through, this was new for both of us. Just in case it never happened again, just in case it would be the last and only time, I forced myself to be fully present. I wanted to record every sound, every touch so I never forgot. I haven't forgotten how his skin felt against mine or the sound of his breath in my ear. Even though we have slept together for three nights now, we still haven't talked about it. It just happens, we fall asleep in each other's arms, and one of us leaves in the morning. Maybe this is part of the perpetual suspension, the allegorical pause button we seem to be unable to let go of: keep things the same for as long as possible until it becomes unbearable.

* * *

**DS:** There are only two reasons why you're asking me about Mulder and I. One reason is William, and the other is you just want to know if we had sex.

**AL:** …I…uh…well, I wouldn't put it that way….

**DS:** I can answer that second part of that very easily – yes. Yes, we did. I remember the second time better because the second time is always better. At first, you're both so nervous, seemingly unskilled, and unfamiliar with each other's bodies. But the second time the nervous energy is mostly gone, and you can concentrate on one another more fully.

_Long pause. DS gets more coffee._

He would call me Dana. When we were together, making love, he would call me by my first name. I know that doesn't seem unusual to you, but it was for us. In our line of work we went by last names, so when he called me Dana it was special, meaningful. We married once we found out he had to go into hiding and I was pregnant.

**AL:** Are you sure you married him? I haven't found any licenses or -

**DS:** You won't. We didn't make it legal. It was…ceremonial. I knew a priest that would marry us, and we had three friends who would be our witnesses. It was the middle of the night. Ironically, I was wearing white – white pajamas. [laughs softly] It probably looked silly to anyone that happened to walk in.

* * *

_Private Electronic Journal, c. 2001, Dana Scully_

Our voices echoed off the cathedral walls, the only light were the candles and the moonlight when the clouds parted.

"I, Dana Katherine Scully, take thee Fox William Mulder…."

Frohike and Langly were sniffling, all the sounds blending together in that empty space in an eerie sort of way.

"…to be my lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold…"

Byers stood up and handed Mulder a ring. I said I didn't have one for Mulder and he put his hands on my face, gently brushing away my messy hair, "It's okay," he said. He gently slid his mother's wedding band over my finger. "She would have wanted you to have this."

He kissed me before we were pronounced man and wife, holding onto each other because we both knew after tonight it would be a while before we saw one another again. We spent our wedding night in my apartment, carefully removing each other's clothes as if we'd never done this before. I suddenly felt very shy and vulnerable. I tried to wrap my arms around myself, worried I was already starting to show. He pulled my hands toward him. "Please, Dana. Let me look at you. Let me look at my wife." I didn't want to start crying, I didn't want to ruin this moment with sadness, but a couple tears escaped anyway. Looking back, maybe I was just happy that he called me his wife, and that we, finally, belonged to each other.

I kissed every part of him, and when he was inside me, I slowed him down because I didn't want it to end. He pulled me down on top of him, never losing eye contact. Afterwards, we held each other so close, our hearts pounding out our fear, our passion, our love almost in unison. His lips passed over my ear, his breath softly slowing from our lovemaking, "I love you, Dana. I love you more than anything."

"I love you, too." I said. Then we were quiet, holding onto each other, cherishing each second until he would have to leave; leave me and my child so we could be safe.

* * *

**DS:** We married so William would have a father. I didn't tell Mulder that William was his son. Not at first. I knew that if I did, he would try to stay. He would never leave us and he would be in danger. Actually, we would all be in danger.

**AL:** So, William was Fox Mulder's son?

**DS:** Yes.

**AL:** But you did see him again, right?

**DS:** Yes.

**AL:** Wasn't there another child? Didn't you have another baby?

**DS:** [_getting up from the table_] I'm tired. Can you come back tomorrow?

**AL:** Of course.

[_End of recording._]


	2. Chapter 2

Dr. Wells poured himself a cup of tea, then offered some to Anne. She politely declined. He gestured for her to begin.

"I don't think she's telling me the truth."

Dr. Wells dumped sugar into his tea. "What makes you think that?"

"I don't know. It just seems like she's withholding something. Like maybe she's telling me what I want to hear rather than what actually happened."

"She is near a hundred, you know. The memory isn't the sharpest at that age."

"She's not like any old person, though." Anne was still shocked at how Dana Scully looked the day they met and did the first interview. A recluse since the fall of the Old Republic, no one had seen the woman in decades. Anne had expected a frail, hobbling old lady. Instead, Dana Scully was bright eyed, articulate, and moved about with ease. Her hair was white as snow, but she was healthy and vibrant. Far more youthful than Anne had expected.

"Even if she isn't telling you everything," Dr. Wells was saying, "it doesn't matter. The purpose of this project is to capture what our subjects perceive as truth. The past and their own lives through their eyes."

"I guess." Anne looked disappointed.

"Try to manage your expectations. Almost everyone from the Old Republic is distrustful of us."

Anne said nothing.

Dr. Wells sat back in his chair. "Did she talk to you about her family?"

"Her parents?"

"No. Her family. Her children."

"She sort of mentioned William. That's one of the things I don't think she's being truthful about. I don't think William was Agent Mulder's son. I think they had a kid, but it wasn't William. I think she had two children."

"Be careful about that," Dr. Wells said slowly. "If you go in thinking she isn't being truthful, it will reflect in the interview."

"I know," Anne tried not to sound whiney or childish.

Dr. Wells nodded behind him to the Great Seal of the North American Union. It blended the arctic north into forests and prairies, which faded into desert. An attempt at creating a cohesive nation. A Union.

"Remember the goal, the endgame."

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yeah."

"Alright. See you tomorrow."

* * *

**AL:** It's Monday evening, October 13, 2061. About 6:13pm. We are at Dana Scully's home, in her backyard, [redacted], NAU. Dana, do I have your permission to record this interview?

**DS:** Yes.

**AL:** Great. There are just a couple things that I want to clear up from yesterday. First, you said you married Fox Mulder but not legally?

**DS:** Right. We didn't file any papers or get a license.

**AL:** You didn't change your name?

**DS:** No.

**AL:** How would that have made him William's father, since you said he was anyway, biologically?

**DS:** I guess that was confusing. Perhaps I should explain it better. You see, I wasn't supposed to be able to have children as a result of the abduction years before.

**AL:** Abduction?

**DS:** Yes. We talked about it.

**AL:** But…who…?

**DS:** We talked about it, Anne. [_Sound of papers shuffling_] I hadn't been partners with Mulder for very long. I was in that…that stage you young girls get in, the crush stage. Whatever you want to call it. I knew, but I didn't know what I was feeling. I'm not sure if that's even possible. But in the middle of all that, one night I was gone, then…the game changed. We rewrote the rules.

* * *

_Private Electronic Journal Entry, c. 1994, Dana Scully_

If I were still in high school, I guess I'd be writing our initials on things. DS+FM. With hearts, too, probably. Melissa told me to memorize a phone book, then she also told me to just go have a one night stand. "Cures" for an alleged illness.

The other night I brought him some food while he was surveilling Tooms. I could tell he was tired, sleep drunk, and probably not thinking clearly. I wanted to be serious, personal, so I called him Fox. He shot that down, saying even his parents called him Mulder. For a second, I was embarrassed. Like I'd been caught with something on my face. But then I told him that I wouldn't put myself on the line for anyone but him. I'd been inching close to the edge of that branch, slowly, taking deep breaths like a high diver, then I just jumped off.

Maybe it was because he was tired or maybe my ego is far more fragile than I thought, but he turned it into kind of a joke. An attempt at levity. I know I wanted him to say the same, and I'm sure he thinks and feels the same way about me. But I wanted him to say it. I wanted the words and the sounds to come out of his mouth, returning the jump, the risk. But…he didn't.

I need to stop thinking about it. We're partners. It's business. It can never be more than that.

* * *

_Private Electronic Journal Entry, c. 1994, Dana Scully_

I don't remember!

I'm tired of saying it. I don't know what happened to me. I don't remember. I'm not being entirely truthful, though. I remember some things, but I'm still hoping they weren't real. I'm trying to explain away visions of my father, talking to me, coaxing me back to the world of the living. I wasn't scared. I felt…safe. At peace. And then…I was awake.

Maybe Mulder thinks my experience is an extension of himself. That I will, in time, become living proof of one of his theories. Things have changed between us, there's no doubt. He respects my insistence that I am fine, that I want to work, that I want it all to be as it was before. That I really do have nerves of steel. But the way he looks at me, as if there's a secret alien code etched in my eyes or that any minute I'll shatter like glass…I don't like it. The other day, he told me that he never gave up hope that I would be returned to him. I knew what he was doing. I knew he was taking Samantha's experience and merging it with mine. I'm another step closer and higher for him to climb onto and shout his theories to the men in the clouds. I thought we'd go into that hand in hand, when all the evidence was clear, but I'm the evidence. That's how he sees me now. A clue in a long mystery game neither of us will win.

* * *

**DS:** As a result of the experiments and tests done on me, without my consent, I became barren. Years later, I came across one of my ova, preserved and intact.

**AL:** Your….ova? How on earth would you find that?

**DS:** By breaking laws. And being in the wrong place at the right time. I saw it as my chance to be a mother; something I didn't know I really wanted until I couldn't have it. I asked Mulder to be the father. That conversation…[laughs softly]. I've been face to face with killers and creatures that would make your skin crawl, but when I asked him, I was petrified. My voice just shaking…he said he would, but I didn't conceive. Not that time. Then Mulder said to me not to lose hope. That there might still be a miracle. That was when we really became lovers I guess, when we really crossed the line and stayed there. We knew things would never be the same between us and we were okay with it. Well…I was, at least. Maybe I became pregnant because we didn't use artificial means. Or maybe miracles really do exist. I still don't know.

* * *

_Private Electronic Journal Entry, c. 2000, Dana Scully_

I don't know how to describe how I feel. I've been backspacing over the same sentence over and over again, trying to comprehend. Trying to form the most difficult feelings into actual words.

It didn't work. Mulder's sperm didn't fertilize my egg. How dry that sounds, like we were in a lab, under microscopes. When he came by, and I told him, he assured me that there could still be a miracle.

I didn't think. I didn't allow myself to think. I just kissed him, pulling him over to the couch, climbing on top of him, wanting him, needing him, until he stopped me, taking my face in his hands, looking me in the eyes. "Are you sure?"

I looked at him, confused.

"I need to know that you're sure about this. That you're not doing this because you expect…that something might happen."

I stared at him for a long time, then looked down at us. My shirt unbuttoned, his on the floor. Was that the appropriate reaction? I don't know. I pulled my shirt around myself, and sat next to him. We were quiet for a long time. I thought he might leave, then he asked me if I wanted him to stay. I don't remember answering him. We lay there in my bed together, partially naked. I was so cold, and he was so warm. He kept me so close to him, but it didn't feel close enough. When he spoke I felt the rumble of his voice against my forehead, his breath in my hair. I never know if this will be the last time. I rubbed my hands down his back, and breathed him in. I wanted him in in me; I wanted him in my lungs. It was these moments that I liked best, when we didn't need to hear each other, but just feel. Tangled legs, skin against skin. Every second, every moment, every part of him. I have to remember in case it's the last time.

"I'm not going to sleep," I told him.

"Then I won't either."

He turned me so my back was facing him. I asked him what he was doing.

"You kept it?" He traced the outline of my tattoo. I closed my eyes, feeling his fingers on the curve of my back. Memories flooding back of that one night that I lost myself. Or maybe I found myself.

"Yeah. You've never seen it?"

"No. I thought you had it removed. There was poison in the ink?

"No. I kept it. I didn't get sick."

He pulled me into his arms, kissing my shoulders. "I like it."

I laughed. He said he wasn't joking. Neither of us slept. He held me like that until the sun was up. It wasn't enough. I want more nights like that with him. It's not enough.

* * *

**AL:** But you didn't tell Mulder?

**DS:** I told him I was pregnant. I didn't tell him that he was the father. Not right away.

**AL:** But…wouldn't he have assumed?

**DS**: I don't know. By then, we knew he had to leave. He'd become a fugitive. If he knew, he never said so, and I didn't want to keep him with me, as much as I wanted to. I was a selfish woman sometimes, but I couldn't be then.

**AL:** So…your other child you had later when you saw him again?

[_Sounds of DS getting up from the bench, walking across the yard. Several minutes of silence._]

**DS:** The old capitol is just six hours north of here, did you know that? I don't know what's there now. It's been…thirty years, maybe forty since I've been up there.

[_Long pause._]

Six hours…maybe back then, but now I guess it wouldn't take so long. Six hours or longer, depending on the traffic. Your generation is lucky. You won't ever know what that's like. But all that up there, it's all gone now, isn't it?

**AL:** I don't know.

**DS:** People probably tell you that when you're older, you'll know things. You'll know better. You'll be wiser. [_Long pause_] It's not true.

**AL:** Do you miss him still? Mulder?

**DS:** That's stupid question, Anne.

**AL:** I can come back later, Dana. If you're tired.

**DS:** Okay.

[_End of recording._]


	3. Chapter 3

**DS:** Thank you for coming back. [_shuffling sounds_] I couldn't sleep. I don't really sleep anyway –

**AL:** It's okay – [_sounds of dishes and glasses clinking_]

**DS:** Not more than a few hours at a time. Do you want some tea or…I have coffee.

**AL:** I'm okay. Dana, do I have your permission to record this interview?

**DS:** Yes.

**AL:** Okay. It's Monday, October 13, 2061, about 11:42pm. We are in Dana Scully's home, [redacted], NAU.

**DS:** You always have to say that, don't you?

**AL:** Yes.

**DS:** I'm sorry. About earlier. I know it's your job and you're supposed to ask. I don't know what you've found on me, or what's left from the Old Republic, but most of what you've found, I'm sure, is tied to other people. Mostly Mulder. As it should be. But as much as we were together, one and the same, on the same quest, I'm still…me. This is my story. Please let me tell it how I want to.

**AL:** I understand.

**DS:** And I know you want to know about William. I'll get to it. It's not hard for me to think about him, but it's hard for me to talk about him. I think it's because I think about him every minute of every day, but I don't talk about him to anyone. Not at all.

[_DS drinking coffee, sitting down at the table._]

I didn't get morning sickness. I got night sickness. I'd wake up in the middle of the night, sick as a dog, and throw up for an hour. Being a doctor, I just tried to rationalize it away as food poisoning or a virus. But one night I got up, vomited several times, then went to the drugstore. I bought ten pregnancy tests and every single one was positive. I thought maybe I should call my mother, but I ended up going to see Mulder. By then, he was staying with some friends of ours. They called themselves The Lone Gunmen. You've found information on them, I assume?

**AL:** Yeah.

**DS:** They were good men. You won't see that in your records or data, but they were. I guess now they'd be considered heroes. But I didn't want to tell Mulder in front of them, though. It was far too personal. We went and sat out in my car. They let us as long as Langly could check my car for any recording devices and Byers could stand guard. It was so silly, but so necessary. All I said to Mulder was "I'm pregnant." Just like that. Simple. Easy. He didn't really say anything. He took my hand in both of his and we just sat there. I don't even know for how long. Then he said to me that we needed to go somewhere. Right now. That was when we had our ceremony. It was all so impulsive, so quick that I felt like I didn't have enough time to really process all of it. But…that was how it happened; how I became a mother and a wife in just one night.

* * *

_Private Electronic Journal Entry, c. 2001, Dana Scully_

Can I just stay here? Can I just stay here in my home, in my bed forever? Hiding in my cave of blankets and pillows, shutting out everything and everyone, until I can see him again? Can I just lay here, letting my belly grow, have my baby, and never see another person? Why can't I just sleep…for the next nine months at least? I don't want to lie to everyone, take off this ring, and pretend none of it never happened. Before they took Mulder away, Frohike told me if I ever needed anything, he'd be here in a second. I almost want to call him, because I need someone now. Anyone at all. I need someone to force me to go about my days as if everything were normal. I don't think I can do any of this alone. I don't want to be alone.

* * *

_Electronic Communication, year unknown, TrustNo1 (Fox Mulder) to Dana Scully_

All I have is time. Days and nights, rushing at me like a freight train, then slowing into nothingness. To think, let my mind just take over. Lately, I've been thinking about when I should have stopped all this, when I should have given up. It should have been when you came out of the coma, when despite all the odds, you lived. I should have given up then, taken you away with me, and made that the end of it. But I made the decision to not give up, not let them get away with what they'd done to you, to us, and ultimately lead to this…. We should have just let them win.

I can't see you…I can't hear your voice. I can't listen to your logic, holding me together, the substance that makes me a whole person. I can't turn over in my bed to see you there sleeping with me, your pulse beating slowly at the base of your neck, making me breathless. I need your assurance, your strength. I need your heartbeat, steady and strong, against mine. Without you, I am a ghost. Without you, I am a phantom, partial existence, two dimensional, moving through this three dimensional world. I don't exist, I am not fully alive, without you.

I am a ghost, suspended between the world of the living and the world of the dead, until I can see you again. Sometimes I just stare at my hands because I can swear they are becoming translucent, fading with time into nothing. Reality blurs into something intangible.

What has formed between us has become so sacred that I worship and pray to it every day. I ask it to keep you safe, keep you going, and keep William safe, too. I ask it if I can please stay whole and solid until it's all over. When it's over. But what about after that? Am I going to lose you this time? I need forgiveness for asking too much of you. I need redemption for leaving you alone with danger, with a child, and without me.

* * *

**AL:** But the next day, Mulder left? You went through your pregnancy alone?

**DS:** He left the next night. We had one whole day for our so-called "honeymoon," I guess. It didn't feel that way. It felt like seconds passed before he was gone.

**AL:** Do you know where he went?

**DS:** No. I know…generally where he was. It was best that way, I suppose. The less I knew, the safer we all were.

[_DS getting up from her chair._]

Do you mind if I turn that light on over there? It seems too dark in here.

**AL:** Yeah, that's fine.

[_Sounds of DS moving around the room._}

**DS:** We faked an abduction. Well…not really "we." I wasn't in on all the details at first. I don't think Mulder was either.

**AL:** Like a…like aliens?

**DS:** There had to be a way for him to disappear. There needed to be witnesses. It wasn't like a faking-your-own-death scenario. It was an abduction scenario. But with out aliens. The fact that there were or could be extraterrestrials was implied. It was our friends and allies.

**AL:** Who took him? Who abducted him?

**DS:** I'm not really sure about all the logistics. The Lone Gunmen, they planned most of it out. Mulder was transported safely to an undisclosed location…like I said, I generally knew where. One of those former Canadian territories. I don't remember which one now. But to everyone else, the Bureau, even my family, he was on Mars or just tumbling through space. Or dead.

[_Long pause_.]

There was a way for us to meet if we needed to. And a way to communicate. Not too often or anything or for long periods of time. I had to be careful about that, about asking to see him or talk to him. I couldn't be too impulsive because he wouldn't hesitate. He often tossed aside his own self-preservation…for me. Anything I asked of him.

* * *

_Private Electronic Journal Entry, c. 2001/2002, Dana Scully [year approximate per DS]_

I've done nothing since I got home.

A long car ride, round trip 18 hours, with Frohike. I slept through most of it. When we crossed the border the temperature seemed to immediately drop 20 degrees. When we got there, hours and miles later, I thought I'd see Byers and Langly, but Frohike told me they were looking out from a distance. Listening, too, probably. I've given up on privacy. He dropped me off in an abandoned parking lot with an abandoned convenience store.

"There's no reception out here. We checked. No cellular, radio, TV, nothing. So you won't be able to call me if something goes wrong. Do you have your weapon?"

I said I did.

"Good. Mulder doesn't."

"You took his gun?"

"We hid it. He knows where. I'm going to drive back down the road a bit to make sure we weren't followed."

We'd just driven across a long-neglected highway. The sun was setting, but there was still enough of the late bluish light to see by. I didn't see how anyone on earth could know where we were, but I understood and respected his precautions. Before I got out of the car, he put his hand on my arm and urged me to be careful. I'd gotten used to his leering eyes and flirtatious joking, but in his face at that moment all I saw was genuine concern and respect.

I told him I would, then got out of the car. Despite how I felt, how badly I needed to see him, I stood there until Frohike was back on the road, driving away. Mulder and I were really and truly alone. I could feel my heartbeat in my throat as I crunched through the snow to the back of the building. We saw each other at the same time, approaching quickly, I thought I'd fall into his arms immediately. But we slowed to a stop right in front of each other, so close that our breath mingled in the chilly air.

His eyes were red, his skin rough around his jawline, but it was him. It was Mulder. He pulled me into him, enveloping me, taking me in. I pressed my head into his chest, the cold keeping me from coming completely apart right there.

"Scully…." His voice cracked like he was going to cry.

He gently tilted my head up and kissed me, over and over, his breath warm on my cheek. I pulled away and looked up at him, moving my eyes around his face, etching it in my memory. Studying and recording him like data. When he rested his forehead against mine, we both whispered "I loved you" at the same time, then laughed. Like a young, untroubled couple on the beach. Like normal.

I let him hold me close for as long as he wanted. I thought if Frohike came back right then, I'd die. There was nowhere else I wanted to be.

"Frohike didn't try to take you to a sleezy motel?"

I didn't have to see his face. I knew he was smirking at his own dumb joke.

"How are you? How's…?" He put his hand on my abdomen.

"Good. Doctor says everything is fine."

"But you're worried."

I didn't want to talk. I told him I wasn't worried. It was a lie.

"Have you told anyone?"

"No."

"Not Skinner? Doggett?"

"Skinner. Not Doggett."

I looked up at him, the soft evening light grazing over his eyes. "I know what you're thinking. We know we can trust Skinner. I don't know about Doggett. Not yet."

"Scully –"

"I don't want to talk. I don't want to spend our time talking about that."

Frohike had left us alone for at least an hour, but it felt like only 2 or 3 minutes had gone by. I knew we couldn't be alone much longer. I knew that our friends were risking a lot to protect us and make that hour possible. But I didn't want to leave him. His heartbeat on my cheek, his scent of wood smoke and soap, the tips of his fingers threading through mine. None of this is right. We should be together, all the time, warm in our own home, fighting over the remote control, complaining to our friends about how the other one snores. But that isn't ever going to be us, is it? There's never going to be anything "normal" or "right" about us. We chose this, though, didn't we? We chose to trust each other, to care about each other, then love each other. I might as well lean into it. Give it everything I have.

He pulled me up in his arms, almost lifting me off my feet, kissing me slowly. I tried not to rush it. I wanted it slow and slower. Not frantically, like a drowning woman, the way I wanted to, clinging to him like he was about to fall off a cliff. No. Slowly so I could remember. I beg God, if He's listening, to please not let this be the last time.

I got back in the car and we drove off, back home. I turned around and watched his figure get smaller until it was too dark for me to see him anymore.

* * *

**AL:** Did you get to see him much?

**DS:** No. Not enough. Maybe twice. When you love someone and they return that love, it's an amazing, beautiful thing. Everything becomes amplified. I've been in love twice in my life. Real love. Fake love is…an orgasm. It's intense, but it's over too fast. Real love has something else behind it, supporting it and sustaining it. For Mulder and me, it was respect and trust that could only have evolved from what we went through together. I fell in love with my son the second I felt him moving in me. I was in the car. I had to pull over and just cry. It's all so what we can feel as human beings. What we can do. But even the bad feelings…

[_Sounds of DS walking around room._}

I always pretended, every time I saw him, Mulder, that it would be the last time. It was the only way to shut off the endless commentary in my head and just be with him. I don't know what his coping strategy was, but I absorbed every second. We were both afraid of losing each other. Not like one of us falling out of love or finding someone else, but really losing each other. Anyway, to go back to your question, I only got to see him when it was safe.

**AL:** And when you saw him again? When he came back?

**DS:** I was huge by then. It was short-lived anyway. He pretty much died a fugitive. He was gone again as soon as he was home. He had to be. After I had William, I was going to tell him then, that William was our son. But knowing he was still in so much danger….I just didn't say anything. If I did, I would be responsible for him losing his life, and he would have, too. If he tried to die some noble death to keep me safe, it would have killed me. I couldn't not have him. Right then I could only have him one way – from a distance.

[_Sound of AL yawning._]

**DS:** [_chuckling_] Are you tired? I hope I'm not boring.

**AL:** No, not at all. I am tired, though. Sorry.

**DS:** It's okay. You can come back tomorrow. Or later today. I didn't know how late it was.

**AL:** What time?

**DS:** Anytime. I'm always here.

[_End of recording._]

* * *

"Have you seen it?" Sam shoved the tablet in William's face.

"Seen what?" William was distracted, watching his grandchildren play. He always took away their devices when they visited. He wanted to see where their natural inclinations took them without mindless stimulation.

"The Anne Link interview. They're uploading it into the repository piece by piece this time." Sam shoved the tablet at William again.

"Who?" William pretended to be interested in the tablet.

"Anne Link."

"Ah. Old Republic?"

"Union."

Sam sat down, uninvited, making William irritated.

"Those damn Privacy Nazis in the Council took out everything," Sam said angrily. "And Wells…he's having them use audio recorders! For fucking 'authenticity!' Those old-timey things are compatible only with the old programs that have no code. No backup. Once it's gone, it's just gone! They said the project was for the sake of transparency. Right. Well, where is it?!"

William looked thoughtful, watching his grandchildren. It made him proud that they both displayed a natural competitiveness and aptitude for physical endurance at such a young age. He was sure they'd go far and be twice as successful as anyone in their family.

"You're not mad enough about this," Sam said.

"Who was Anne Link interviewing?"

"Dana Scully."

"Oh." William watched as his granddaughter challenged her brother at who could swing the highest. They were fraternal twins, but the girl, Tamryn, was much taller and stronger.

"Sam, we'll talk about it later. It's family time right now."

"Okay," Sam got up, taking his tablet. "Read it when you get a chance."

"I will." William stood up as Sam left. "Kids, go inside and help your Aunt Emily."


	4. Chapter 4

_Private Electronic Journal Entry, c. 2001/2002, Dana Scully [year approximate per DS]_

My sleeping schedule is all screwed up. I didn't sleep last night, and I probably won't sleep tonight either. For the first time in a long time, I actually want a cigarette. And a big bottle of wine to go with it. I don't know if this is part of my pregnancy cravings or I'm just tired. My body wants things that are not good for me or the baby.

This time it was Byers that drove me up. Frohike must have lost a bet. The trip didn't seem as long and we went somewhere different this time. I asked Byers where we were going and he said that Mulder had moved. I'm still not sure if it's because he had to or that's just part of the plan. We had to switch cars along the route. Is it bad that it was at that point that I began to think this was all too much? Too ridiculous or dangerous or something? Am I just far too selfish and needy after all?

Byers took me to a motel that, at first, looked just as abandoned as the last place we'd been. He handed me a key.

"Room 108. He'll be here later."

"How long do we have this time?" I cringed, not really wanting to know the answer.

"One of us will be here at sunrise."

It was already dark. Stars shining down from a clear sky. Not enough time. It will never be enough. I went to room 108. It was ugly and dark. It smelled like an ashtray mixed with the chemical, flowery scent of bargain air fresheners. Not at all romantic. Squalid and underhanded, a place for dirty secrets to settle into the carpet like dust.

I don't know how long I waited. I didn't bother turning on any lights. When he got there, I stood up, but before I could speak, he was across the room, pulling me into his arms and kissing me in an aggressive way that I wasn't used to.

We just couldn't stop. Not even to catch our breaths, to say hello, or say anything at all. He kissed my neck, unbuttoning and unzipping, hungrily, almost angrily.

"Mulder…" I took his face in my hands, looking into his eyes to see what I would find there. Was he crying? Or had been?

"I'm sorry," he breathed into my hair, setting me back down on the bed, getting down on his knees in front of me. He traced his thumb over my lips. "You don't know what this is like for me."

"This is hard on me, too."

He told me he didn't think I would be here this time. I was confused. Where was this coming from?

"This does _nothing_ for you," he whispered. "_Nothing_ to help you. It puts you in danger. And there's more risk now, more to lose. Why come back?"

I sank down on my knees in front of him. I put my hand on his chest, right over his heart, his skin so warm. Then I took his hand, shaking and sweating, and clumsily put it against my breast, right over my heart.

"Nothing?" I whispered back. "How can this be nothing?"

I searched his face for my answer. He closed his eyes for a minute, and when he opened them I saw that he understood.

He was finally here with me, in that room, in that time, in that place. In those moments, sliding under the blankets together, concentrating to keep the spell unbroken. My hands slid along his back, the tips of my fingers on his shoulders, memorizing each ridge, each movement of muscle under his skin. He brought my hand to his lips. Kissing my palm, my wrist, the bend of my arm at my elbow. And when he was inside me, slow and deep, a thin sheen of sweat formed on our bodies as we tried hard to keep it going. Giving ourselves to each other. Clinging to each other, slowing and quickening, slowing and quickening, until it was too much, the pressure breaking inside both of us, gasping against each other's mouths, inhaling and exhaling into solemn stillness.

We wrapped ourselves around each other, holding on until I would have to leave again. I wanted so badly to fall asleep like that, feel the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest against my cheek as it slowed. God, it is never enough. I wanted to stay. Who would miss me? Who would even notice? But reality appeared with the sun, weak light through stained curtains. I said my prayer again, begging God, to not let this be the last time. It has become my ritual now, after we embrace, I'm getting superstitious because he was right – I do have more to lose now.

* * *

**AL:** It's Tuesday, October 14, 2061. About 11:17am. We are in Dana Scully's home, [redacted], NAU. Dana, do I have your -? Dana?

**DS:** In here. I'm taking down these curtains. It just gets too dark in here. Yes, you have my permission to record this interview.

**AL:** Okay. Do you want some help?

**DS:** No. [_sounds of DS walking back into the room_] Okay, that's much better. Did you get some rest?

**AL:** I did. Did you?

**DS:** After you get to be a certain age, I guess you can overpay your sleeping debt and just not really need it anymore.

**AL:** I see. So…were you with Mulder when William was born?

**DS:** Hm. If you're asking if he was physically with me that night, no. Agent Reyes, Monica Reyes was there.

**AL:** Monica Reyes?

**DS:** Yes. She was a good friend. At times, so much more than that. Incredibly brave. Loyal. We were very close all the way up until she passed, about six years ago. I guess I really am the last one now. She was interviewed, wasn't she?

**AL:** I think so. Not by me.

**DS:** And William…I was afraid he was going to come out looking…wrong. I was afraid there was something wrong with him. Like physically, a birth defect or something. But he looked normal. He was just a healthy baby boy…on the outside.

[_Long pause._]

There was something wrong, or…unusual about him. He was able to do things babies shouldn't be able to do. Or anyone.

**AL:** Like…?

**DS:** He's still alive, Anne. I can't.

**AL:** You're sure he's still living?

**DS:** Yes.

**AL:** Was he William Scully? William Mulder?

**DS:** Do you really not know the policies or are you assuming I'm stupid and that I don't?

**AL:** No….no…but if his birth name and adopted name are different –

**DS:** I know what you're doing. Let's not do that. It's hard enough, you know, to acknowledge what I did…instead of being brave, I gave up. I gave up like a coward. I allowed him to become someone else's. Let them watch him grow, be a part of his memories. I don't want to discuss what might be very personal for him. If there's something you people need to know about him, I'm sure it wouldn't be hard to find him and ask him yourselves.

**AL:** It would be just as easy for you to find him, too. Wouldn't it?

**DS:** No. As part of my Sanctuary Agreement with the Union, I have restricted network access. All my travel must be approved a year in advance. I even have limited access to my pension.

**AL:** Oh. I thought you all were pardoned.

**DS:** Maybe some were. Not me.

**AL:** I'm sorry….I…just thought that…I guess we should move on.

**DS:** Yes. I will tell you though that I didn't just give William over to the system, hoping a nice family would take him in. I did my research first. I didn't want it to be random. So, I tried. I guess.

* * *

_Private Electronic Journal Entry, c. 2001/2002, Dana Scully [year approximate per DS]_

I keep having this dream, not every night, it changes from night to night, just little things, but it's generally the same. I'm on a ledge high up somewhere. Down below me is this caldera filled with the clearest, bluest water I've ever seen. Under the water is everything. Everyone, everything, every emotion I've ever wanted to feel, every place I've ever wanted to be, every wish I've ever had, all swirling and swimming happily below the surface. If I just jump, I can be down in the warm depths with all of it.

But I can't jump.

I'm afraid I'll jump all wrong and land on the rocks surrounding the water, my skull cracking open, my blood dripping down the rocks. I'm afraid it will hurt. Jumping from such a great height, the crash into the water will break something. And so I sit there watching all of it, knowing I could be a part of it if I could only jump. Just shut my eyes, hold my breath, and just do it.

I don't do it. I don't jump. I'm mad at myself when I wake up. Do I need to be pushed? What if someone was there with me? Taking my hand and we made the jump together? There's never anyone there with me. Just me, too scared to take the plunge into happiness and peace.

I think I'm just addicted to chaos. I'm addicted to the unsettling, what's impossibly hard, what's stupidly dangerous. Why else would I continue doing this? Why else would I choose to love someone that will always be out of reach? Too dangerous for me and our son, untouchable, hiding. It's not enough for me. How can this be enough for him?

Maybe that's why I don't jump. I stay on the ledge, contemplating the fall, chickening out, because if I jumped it would mean I'd have to leave him behind.

* * *

**DS:** I'm not happy with or proud of how I handled things back then. I was doing the best I could, at that time. I didn't tell anyone what I was considering. I just…I did it. Coming home to his crib, taking it apart, little things all strewn around my home to remind me…I shouldn't have been alone. I should have reached out to my mother at the very least, but…the person I wanted with me couldn't be there.

[_Sounds of DS walking around the room._]

I needed him there to put his arms around me and hold me together, because I was sure I was going to just break apart. Do you know what that's like? A need unlike any other, worse than needing water or air or sleep; an insatiable need for the other pieces of you that make you whole. That first night, that night, after William was gone, I could feel or sense that my sister, Melissa, was there with me. I don't really know how to put it into words, but it was like she was there, her...like when she was alive and I knew she was in the house without having to see or hear her. Like that. It's like she knew I needed someone right then, and she was reaching out from wherever she is. I've never told anyone that before. Not even Mulder.

**AL:** Did you tell Mulder about William…when you, when he was adopted?

**DS:** Yes. Except I couldn't tell him face to face. It was the worst, having to send him a message, not knowing when or if he would see it. Waiting. I didn't know how he'd handle it. I know we've talked about this before, about if he knew. I don't want to speculate on what he did or didn't know because he's not here to tell his own story, but he wasn't a stupid man. It wasn't hard to figure out.

[_Long pause._]

Whoever gets to read or hear these recordings might judge me harshly for doing what I did. Not telling or even asking his father. There were people after Mulder. And our son. Except they weren't people…they were, they were something else. And I had to balance all that, alone, with some help, but mostly alone. My mother almost died because of it.

**AL:** How?

**DS:** Can we, can we take a break? Is it alright to do that?

**AL:** Sure.

[_Recording paused. 1:39pm._]

* * *

_Letter to Dana Scully from William F. [redacted], Handwritten on paper converted digitally, 2032._

_Used with permission, DS Sanctuary Agreement, Clause 4._

Emily,

When/if she agrees to see you, please give her this.

Te amo con todo mi corazòn,

William

Ms. Dana Scully:

I am your son, William. If you need proof, I can provide it. Please let me say first that I do not hate you, nor do I question your reasons. As you can imagine the story of how I found you and my father is long and arduous. I want to see you and my father and tell you both, but only at your will. I cannot imagine what this news will make you feel, but I hope you will see me. There is so much I want to say to you both.

I also want to tell you how I found the woman you are meeting. She is your daughter, and my half-sister, Emily. I found her three years ago in Honduras. She has been speaking Spanish for the last 28 years, and she is re-learning English. Please be patient with her if she cannot answer all your questions.

Emily can tell you how to contact me, if it is your wish, which I hope for very much.

Your son,

William


	5. Chapter 5

William walked into the hospital, past screaming babies and coughing fits to the front desk. The man behind it didn't speak English. He motioned towards a woman, who told William to go down the hall and to the left.

William approached another desk. Behind a tall stack of folders he could hear clicking on a keyboard. There was a sign upon the wall with her name, Dr. Emily Gutierrez. That was when it hit him; when exhaustion and anticipation collided, making him feel dizzy. He slowed to a stop when a head peeked out from behind the files. A head with long hair, the color of a new, shiny copper penny. She wore cheap reading glasses, one of the ear pieces broken and taped back together. She said something to him in Spanish that he wouldn't remember later.

He just stopped and stared. He said nothing. He couldn't speak. He hadn't really prepared what to say or how to say it. When he saw her face, he remembered all those dreams as a little boy. The one where he watched a tiny hand dip into a pool of clear water, a strand of copper hair slipping into view. A silver crucifix spinning on a wall. Waking up in the middle of the night, praying in Spanish, then covering his mouth out of fear that he was possessed. He knew then that none of those were dreams.

Emily stood up, taking off her glasses and tucking them neatly in the pocket of her off-white lab coat. "Señor?"

William asked her if she spoke English. She shook her head, then gestured for him to wait there while she went through a door behind her. She brought back a Caucasian man whose accent sounded Australian.

"Do you need help, sir?" He asked.

William looked into Emily's soft blue eyes, searching for recognition.

"Do you need medical attention?" The Australian man asked.

"No," William replied. "I'm here to see her."

The Australian man translated to Emily.

"Are you a patient of hers?"

William hesitated. "I'm her brother."

It came out too loud and too clear as if it was the loudest thing anyone had ever said in that hospital. William moved forward slowly. He silenced his mind, slowed his breathing, and went to the place where he'd always found her. A place in his head, like a waiting room, with no language, no voices; feeling for each other rippling through the air in pitch darkness, they'd met there many times before.

"You know who I am," William whispered. He could feel she was there, too. Her palm flat, fingers splayed as she reached out towards him in that dark and quiet place in his mind. "And you know what we are."

* * *

[_Recording resumed 1:54pm_]

**DS:** And, well, you know….we had to maintain our fitness…

**AL:** I've started it back again…

**DS:** Oh. Do you want me to start over again?

**AL:** No. I want to go back to William, though. When was the last time you saw him?

[_Long silence_]

**AL:** Dana, it's not –

**DS:** I know. I'm thinking about whether I should lie to you or tell you the truth.

**AL:** …I would hope…the truth?

**DS:** I don't like the truth.

[_Another long silence. Some outside noises and shuffling._]

**DS:** Six years ago.

**AL:** What? The last time you saw William was six years ago?

**DS:** Yes.

**AL:** What…so you found him?

**DS:** No. He found me. He found us—Mulder and I. I'm skipping things again. It's just easier to skip over the parts you don't like, isn't it? We have a very…strained relationship now, my son and I, so that's why I haven't seen him in six years.

**AL:** He found you six years ago?

**DS:** No. He found us about thirty-some years ago. Mulder and I didn't discuss it much, but any child of ours would figure it all out and find us eventually. It was just inevitable. After I gave him up, I was afraid of when I would see him again, because I was going to. He was safe, he would live, and I would see him again. I knew it for absolute fact. But when and under what circumstances was frightening.

* * *

_Private electronic journal entry c. 2026 [date approximate per DS]_

I can't sleep. Mulder left some time ago to drive around, I guess. He's angry with me, I think. We can't sleep. It's funny to think about the days or hours before your life changes drastically. It just happens, out of nowhere, no warning. Well, I can't say that I don't deserve this or I didn't expect it one day…

He was right here. Sitting in our home, on our furniture…my son. _My_ son. _Our_ son. And he wasn't alone…_she_ was with him! Mulder and I have already had our prerequisite argument about whether or not I believe it's really William and Emily. I'm tired of believing and not believing anything. I'm tired of being accused. We sat there together like we had in the old days, our Agent Faces on, exchanging looks, as William and Emily told us their respective stories. He told us he knew he was adopted, found us through the DNA Archives during the fall of the Old Republic. Every database that had ever existed left unguarded could reveal anything private to anyone, while the NAU scrambled to shut all the virtual doors and create windows instead. It had been a mess, but he'd seen a "possible match" in the DNA Archives – a half-sister. Or rather a one-quarter sister. He told us it was as if Emily had one mother, me, and two fathers. I knew what he was saying went against laws of genetics, but I've seen things that go against all laws of nature and the Universe. How is it I can still be shocked after all I've seen?

Emily explained to us, in very broken English, sometimes clarified by William, that she didn't remember anything before Barbados. That was where she'd been found by a group of Dominican nuns; she eventually settled with them in Honduras. I nearly started sobbing uncontrollably when she said she studied medicine to give the sisters the medical care they desperately needed as they aged. My Emily is a doctor after all…I squeezed Mulder's hand too tight as I tried to think of how she could have gotten to Barbados. Did they just dump her there? Had they put her on a boat and smuggled her in, not giving a shit where she ended up afterwards? I squeezed his hand so hard he grunted with pain. It made me angry, but….there was something…was there something wrong with her? Just in how she was with us. Is there something wrong with her? I really feel like there's something wrong with her, but I can't place it yet.

Mulder and I fought over her later, not William. I believe he's William, our son. How could I not after seeing him today? Seeing him talk, his gestures, his smiles, his expressions. I know what it is now to be a mother looking at her child and seeing something familiar, something only a mother and a child can share. Only for me I didn't get those moments of pride and love bit by bit over time; I got them all at once in one afternoon. I could see us in him. There was me when he would tilt his head one way, Mulder when he smiled or looked thoughtful. Brief seconds of emotion passing quickly across his face; I needed to slow time down so I could map myself and Mulder in each micro-expression, catch up on all I have missed.

But her….I didn't tell him what I saw. Maybe he saw it, too. It's harder with her because I saw her die. She was – in every way, shape, and form known to us – dead. Mulder said I'd also seen him dead, but he'd come back to life. Wasn't it possible for her, too? The answer is simple for him: be a family. Right now. Get back all the years lost forever and be a family. Now. Nothing from before matters.

I was watching William's face as he talked to Mulder and me. His eyes are blue. His hair came in light when he was a baby, but now it's dark like his father's. I noticed all of this. I noticed his hand sliding over Emily's hand, fingers entwined with hers. It was an unconscious gesture. It was an intimate gesture. It made me feel something I didn't like. I stopped listening to them talk, just blocked out the sound, and tried to deconstruct what was between them, left unsaid, but still hanging in this house even now. William said he found us as the Old Republic fell apart, and the NAU restored order three years ago this month. Where have they been the last three years? What have they been doing? They could have come to us much sooner, and why haven't they?

* * *

"Aunt Emily, will you braid my hair?" Tamryn sat on Emily's lap, leaving Timothy to battle zombie-aliens in their game alone.

"Of course. Hold still now."

William sat down next to them, watching for a minute. "Did you see it?"

"Yes. I read it." Decades out of Honduras and Emily's accent was still thick. She still rattled off in Spanish from time to time, mostly because she knew it irritated him. "They're just sending that silly girl out into the wilderness to antagonize her."

"Maybe," William said slowly. He watched Emily's fingers folding locks of Tamryn's strawberry blonde hair into a neat Dutch braid. "You think everyone will come later? Everyone knows it's important, right? To have the family together."

"Everyone but Esther, and," she mouthed the name silently to William, "Mary."

Tamryn, forever curious and never fooled, turned to look at them.

"Turn round. The braid will be crooked," Emily said. Tamryn obeyed.

"They all have to be here," William said firmly. "Everyone. Let's get it all out in the open at last if we need to. But everyone has to be here. It's family time."

"What do you want me to do about it?" Emily wrapped a hair tie around Tamryn's hair and gently pushed her off her lap. "I can't make anyone do anything. That's what happens when they grow up. Esther is your daughter, and Mary—"

They both glanced cautiously at the children. Both of them had turned away from the game, listening in.

"Go outside," Emily said.

"What about Aunt Esther?" Timothy asked.

"Go outside!" William repeated. "Here's a new game." He tossed them a tiny memory disk. "Go learn it and I'll be out to score you later." Tamryn and Timothy scrambled outside, already fighting over who would begin.

William moved closer to Emily, taking her hand in both of his. In all the seconds that made up their lives thus far, it was the ones where they were alone that seemed to last the longest, to pause unforgivingly, a zooming microscope coming in at them from space, to examine and critique. They sat in silence for a minute or two, a heavy shame sinking over them, as they found each other in the "Waiting Room," just for reassurance.

"If you ask Mary to come," William said quietly, slowly, "then she will come. She will always do what you ask her to do, and she will always ignore what I ask. It's how she is. We know this. If Mary comes, Esther will come, too."

Emily nodded. She knew he was right.

William gently turned her chin so he could look at her, in her eyes. "Okay?"

"Yes," Emily said. "Okay."


	6. Chapter 6

**DS:** He just showed up. All grown up. His voice was all changed and deep, he had stubble on his chin and neck, and his hands were –

**AL:** So, did he message you, call you?

**DS**: No, he sent a letter. And then…he was just here. It's really silly, but I was jealous that he looked more like Mulder than me. Isn't that stupid? I didn't think it was fair; I carried him around, gave birth to him, and tried to care for him on my own, but he was his father through and through. I don't know. Mulder said he looked like me mostly, except for his hair and his chin. It's amazing, really. To see yourself in another person, you and someone you love, what you created together. All you can do is love them. No matter what they do or what they've done…

**AL:** He contacted you six years ago?

**DS:** Yeah. His grandchildren had just been born. Twins. I'm a great-grandmother [_soft laughter_].

**AL:** Did you contact him back?

**DS:** No….or maybe I did. I think I sent him something like "congratulations," but nothing more.

**AL:** And your grandchild or grandchildren?

**DS:** Triplets. There was one boy. The twins are his.

**AL:** Do you speak to them at all?

**DS:** No. No one contacts me. I imagine they've all forgotten about me by now. Out of sight, out of mind.

[_Long silence_]

**AL:** I'm so sorry, Dana.

[_Silence. Sounds of DS getting up and walking into the kitchen._]

**DS:** Do you want more coffee?

**AL:** No, thank you. I would like some water though.

**DS**: [_from the kitchen, muffled_]

**AL:** I'm sorry, Dana?

[_Sounds of DS walking back into the room, sitting down._]

**DS:** I said, you were right.

**AL:** About what?

**DS:** There was another child….is.

[_More silence. AL's phone chimes._]

**DS:** When all this is done, and it's up on the repository, my son, my grandchildren, my great-grandchildren, and so on, are going to listen to this. My daughter will, too. It's important to me that I don't leave them thinking I left them out or forgot about them. They can forget about me, but I don't want them to believe I have as well. That's more important to me than trying to leave out my mistakes, to create some perfect narrative of a perfect woman. People always said to me, as I'm sure they've said to you, life is short. But it isn't. Life is long. It's plenty of time to screw everything up, and only sometimes there's enough time to fix it.

* * *

The video call connected, but only the audio was on.

"Spender," came the answer.

"Sam, its Gene. Gene Wells."

The video blinked into focus. "Hello, Gene!" Samuel Spender smiled bright, white teeth on the screen. "Sorry, I just answer it sometimes without seeing who it is. Easier just to keep the video turned off. What's up?"

"I'm sending you something….right….now." Dr. Wells tapped the screen of his phone.

"Okay." Sam picked up his phone, swiping through with his thumb. "Is this…a Bible verse?"

"No. Well, it's mimicking Biblical genealogy verses – the whole family is a bunch of fanatics - but no it's not an actual Bible verse."

Sam stared at his phone for a few minutes. "Okay, so this is what I'm seeing: 'Dana and Fox begat William; William and Madison begat Ephriam, Esther, and Eve; Ephriam and Sophia begat Tamryn and Timothy; Eve and Aiden begat'…then there's just like a blank. What is this?"

"Eve is pregnant," Dr. Wells said, his voice small.

"Oh, is she? With Cain? With Abel? No, what is _this_." He gestured at his phone. "We already know this. This doesn't help."

Dr. Wells ground his teeth. He could feel his jaw tightening. "Well, there are no surnames, so we can just uploaded it directly to the repository."

"Where did you get this?"

"From my interviewer."

"Okay," Sam sat forward in his chair, pointing to his phone. "There's another lineage here. That's what we need. We don't need what we already know, what's already public record. We need what's behind this."

Dr. Wells had been proud of Anne. She'd brought the family tree, scribbled on notebook paper, directly from Dana Scully herself. Now, he felt like he'd been tricked or Anne was just stupid.

"Gene," Sam sat his phone down, placing both hands in front of him, annoyingly enunciating each word. "This is a very dangerous lineage. We need names, birthdates. We need proof of something, something to follow."

Dr. Wells nodded. "Well, that's all she gave me. I thought it would be sufficient."

Sam was looking at his phone again. "Hm. It's handwritten?"

"Yeah."

Sam scrolled through his phone, looking thoughtful. "The handwriting doesn't match Dana Scully's. Or Anne's. Or yours."

Dr. Wells' ears burned at the insult.

"But maybe," Sam began clicking things over to his monitor so Dr. Wells could see. "Nope. It's not William's either. Hm. Who do you think wrote this?"

"I don't know. I assumed Dana Scully."

"Huh." Sam sat back in his chair. "I think we need to give your interviewer another assignment. She can continue with Scully, too. I'll arrange it and contact you soon. Bye, Gene."

The screen went black. Dr. Wells checked to see the audio was off before mumbling "Dick."

* * *

_Private electronic journal entry, c. May 2026, Dana Scully_

Mulder and I were in bed this morning talking through what to do. How to handle all this. We planned that tomorrow I'd spend the day with Emily and he'd spend the day with William. Maybe see how they are with us individually. As an afterthought, I said maybe the next day I could spend the day with William and I started to say Mulder could spend it with Emily, but I stopped.

"What?" He asked, curling up behind me, his chin on my shoulder. I never get tired of that.

"Never mind. She doesn't…I don't think she remembers you, and it's not like she's a part of you."

"No. But she's a part of you." He pulled me closer. "Maybe she needs a father figure, don't you think?"

I told him I didn't want him to feel obligated, but really I guess I'd expected him to embrace Emily as much as William.

"I've always wanted a daughter," he said. "And the fact that she's yours makes it all the better."

I felt my face flush, warmth spreading up from my stomach. Sometimes he can still say things that make me love him more. There are times when I think those days are behind us, and we'll just be boring, outlaw retirees; all the angst, the mess, all of it over. But it never will be, will it? We will never be boring.

He gently turned me over on my back. "I'd raise a monkey with you, Scully."

"Hm. An alien?"

"Sure. I'd have hundreds of your progeny." He kissed down my neck.

"Mulder, I can't anymore…"

"Doesn't mean we can't try…"

"Mulder…"

It wasn't that I didn't want sex. I suppose it was the fact that it's really over for me. I don't like to think about it. I can't have any more children. I still get a menstrual cycle every now and then, it's unusual, but not unheard of. I look in the mirror, and I don't see where I've changed much. Are alien abductions fountains of youth? But still...have we really gotten so old? So soon?

* * *

At first, they had to use a translator. Sister Evangeline - Eva for short - tall, about a thousand years old, and suspicious. William learned there was nothing worse than a suspicious nun. Sister Eva took him to the side that first day, surprisingly strong for her age, and in broken English gave him the business.

“No trick this girl! She pretty woman. You trick her?”

“No, no tricks,” William swore. “I swear to you. I’m her brother.”

Sister Eva clicked her tongue. “Men come. Long ago.” She waved her hand as if pushing it in the past. “Try to steal Emily.”

William peeked into the doorway where Emily sat with another nun. “What men?”

Sister Eva shook her head. “Bad. _Un burdel. Pistolas_. Emily pretty. Try to steal.”

“I swear to you I don’t have any pistolas. I’m only here to see her, to talk to her. We have the same mother.” He was only about 90% sure it was their mother. The DNA Archives were bound to be destroyed by now. Emily had come up only as a possible match; only about 25%. He didn’t think that was possible.

Sister Eva sighed. She tucked her hands into her long sleeves. “We find her. Barbados. I not there. I see later.” She shook her head. “We try to find mama or papa. No mama and no papa. Emily not…” Sister Eva searched for the right word. She pointed to her head. “Recuerda.”

“She didn’t remember anything?”

Sister Eva shook her head sadly.

William looked through the door again and Emily looked back. She was pretty. The most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. It made him wonder what their mother might look like. More like him? Like her?

“Listen,” he said to Sister Eva. “If she doesn’t want to talk to me, I’ll leave. I promise. But can you help? Can you translate?”

Sister Eva gave him a long look as if she were trying to peer inside him; a stiff white habit around her ancient face. Finally, she gave him a nod. “I help.” She turned to go back to Emily, then spun around, shaking her finger in his face. “No trick!”

* * *

William stayed in Honduras for 18 months.

He ran out of money, renewed his Travel Status seven times, stumbled through Spanish while Emily stumbled through English, and sweat through a Honduran summer. But it was all worth it because Emily would come back with him to the NAU.

"My family…adopted family have a house in the mountains." He told her.

"What will we…," she searched for the right word, miming with her hands counting currency.

"I have a position in the Council. With my father…adopted father."

"What about me?"

"You can do anything you want."

"Oh."

He could feel her disappointment, her sadness "We'll need to find our mother, of course."

"I thought you find her."

"I don't know where she lives. We can find her together."

Emily wanted to see their mother, but she loved the sisters that had cared for her almost all her life. William could feel how hard the choice was for her, but he knew they could never be separated again. The bond between them had grown significantly.

In the beginning, as they first learned about each other, William set a coffee mug on a table and moved it telepathically in figure eights. He handed Emily the mug. "Can you do that, too?"

Emily set the mug down, then got another one, placed them on the table, and moved them both in figure eights. Then, just to show off, she moved one mug in figure eights and one in squares, like a piano player playing different keys with each hand.

"Oh," William said, his face burning. "I guess you can."

Emily smiled. "Sister Consuela see me. With blankets. She not angry. She not scared. She tell me God gave me gift. She say I pray to Holy Virgin and Our Savior, thank them, and to only use for their glory. Not vanity. Not evil."

"Were you being vain or evil just now?" William asked.

"Vain. I am better than you!" She laughed.

A few months later, they went out of the city to Copán. They wandered around the ruins of the ancient Mayan city, when William noticed a stone bench etched with weathered figures.

He gestured towards it. "Do you think we can move it?

"Why?" She asked, puzzled.

He shrugged. "Just to see if we can do it."

Emily looked around warily.

"Sister Consuela isn't here." William held out his hand.

She smirked at him and took his hand.

"I think we should try doing it how we normally would. See if it's enough."

They stood very still, hand in hand, breathing deeply until the wave of energy pulsated up their spines, crackling over their skulls.

But nothing happened.

Not even a slight tremble.

"I think we do it wrong," Emily said. "How were you try?"

"To lift it up. Up off the ground."

"No. I think too much. I think we turn it." She mimed with her hand. "On side. Focus there." She pointed to the left corner.

They tried again, this time the bench wiggled and jerked to one side as if someone had shoved it back. Emily squeezed William's hand as the bench tipped on its side like a drunken elephant.

Emily turned to William, her smile triumphant. "See? Easy first."

William smiled back, but his face began to burn with the knowledge that she could see inside him in that moment, feel him. Much too far inside. Her smile faded. They were translucent to one another. Sometimes it was like all the windows flung open at once in a house. Sometimes it was like a feeling, nesting itself deep inside them, burrowing in and folding in on itself. Emily let go of his hand, their palms were pinkish red like a sunburn. They stood there for a long time, looking at one another, sitting silently together in the Waiting Room. They were still and quiet, like all the other stones in a garden of ruins.

"I love you so much…," the words tumbled from William's mouth, unchecked. He didn't really need to say it.

They rode back to the city in outward silence, but inwardly they hummed with noise. William drove with one hand, the other clenched into a fist on his lap. Emily reached for his hand, his palm unfolding as she slid her fingers through his.

Later, in Emily's rooms above the convent, William lay in his tiny cot. He listened to Emily pray; the clipped, liturgical words in Spanish. He'd grown used to their hypnotic quality, often lulling him to sleep. But, right then, William hoped more than anything that she was deep into her conversation with God. That way she could not see the depths of his heart as it swelled into a painful amalgamation of love, of shame, and of yearning.


	7. Chapter 7

_Private Electronic Journal entry, c. October 1997, Dana Scully_

I just had another dream, a nightmare, about Emily. When are they going to stop? I'll probably have them for the rest of my life. And all because I couldn't save her. Is it always going to haunt me? Even when I'm distracted, other things going on, it still finds a way to take me away from the present and remind me how I failed.

She was mine. My daughter. I was denied the right to carry her in me, give birth to her, and nurse her. My ability to be a mother, what makes me female, my reproductive imperative, was taken away. Then there was this hope with her…that it was all still possible. In a strange way, in an abnormal way, but still a way.

In my dreams, she's lost. She's always lost, wandering around in the woods, in a field, in a building with endless hallways. I go to find her. I panic because I can hear her crying. But each time I find her, it's like she can't find me. She can't see me. I'm on the other side of a tree, looking through a window, calling for her, telling her that I'm here, but she can't hear me and she can't see me. I kick down doors, break windows, and tear through branches in frustration and desperation, but she can't hear me and she can't see me. I scream at the top of my lungs, the sound ripping out of my throat, but she can't hear me and she can't see me. She wanders further and further away, crying louder, her fear growing to an unbearable level. I wake up, my heart pounding. There's no one here but me. I am alone in this turmoil.

I thought about calling Mulder. He's the first person I think about, as if he'll be able to comfort me. But he won't. Not in the way that I need. I know that he would answer and be here within minutes, but after he got here, then what? Would I break down in front of him, and let him hold me until I stopped? Would I be able to admit that this has fucked with my head more than he knows? I feel like I'll reveal too much, and it will change things between us. He'll be too careful with me, too delicate, choosing not to pursue certain cases all because of me and my inability to cope. No. I can't. I am alone, like Emily; no one can hear me and no one can see me.

* * *

**AL:** So, you had a daughter.

**DS:** Yes. Are you happy now, Anne?

**AL:** No….I…

**DS:** She, um…I found her when she was an orphan. Such a quiet and serious little girl. She was sick, and I tried to save her. I failed, or at least I thought I'd failed, and she died. Only she didn't actually die.

**AL:** What was wrong with her?

**DS:** It's complicated. She didn't actually die, though. What I told you about William, finding us? Emily was with him.

**AL:** Is Mulder her father, too?

**DS:** No. She has no father. She was born in a lab. She was a…science experiment. One that presumably failed, so they just dumped her off on an island and left her there to fend for herself. But she ended up having a good life. Well, good compared to how it started out. Some nuns found her, took her in, and raised her. When I saw her, she was kind of like nun herself. God…I really couldn't believe she was mine. Her beauty was so disarming, but she was completely unaware of it. When she and William came to see Mulder and I, she was very quiet, very cerebral. Mostly because she wasn't fluent in English yet. She'd been raised by Dominican nuns. She didn't remember anything from before. She said she didn't really remember me, but she'd had dreams about a woman that looked like me.

**AL:** Where is she now?

**DS:** I'm not sure.

**AL:** Have you lost contact with her as well?

**DS:** Yes.

**AL:** I know it might be hard for you, but can you tell me what happened between you and her? You and William?

[_Silence for a few minutes_]

**DS:** Are you sure you want the burden of this knowledge?

**AL:** Yes. I mean…I think so…I don't know? What do you mean burden?

**DS:** I'll tell you.

* * *

_Private Electronic Journal entry, c. June 2000, Dana Scully_

I tried to write in here earlier, but when I got out of bed I woke up Mulder. I didn't want him to see me writing or hear the keyboard clicking. He asked me to come back to bed. I didn't tell him that I'd just had another Emily dream. I was too afraid to go back to sleep again.

It's strange. I can be intimate with him, let him inside me, let him touch every part of me, all the while knowing that he's just as vulnerable during those moments as me, but…I can't tell him about this. I've always looked at the person I was with as someone I could tell anything to. What reason would I have to be so guarded? But this is different. When we are together, making love, he has everything. He has all of me. I have all of him. I can feel myself unfolding, unwinding, and unwrapping. I can feel myself taking and giving all at once. There have been times when it's been too much, it makes me turn my head, close my eyes. But he will gently turn me back to him, holding my gaze, cushioning my fragile heart with all his love.

It is the most intimate any two people can be, but I can't tell him my dreams. I can't tell him that I see Emily in other red-headed little girls. I see her lost in the woods. I still see her sick and dying. It seems like it's been too long since we last talked about her. So long, in fact, that if I brought it up now it would show him that I never moved past it. I never forgave that time and left it where it was. Maybe I just want something that I can keep to myself. I feel like it's a wound that has plunged so deeply into my heart that even he and all his love can't heal it.

* * *

It took them a total of two weeks to leave Honduras and arrive in their new home. Although the NAU had swallowed up the Caribbean and was slowly encroaching on Central America, Emily was still considered a foreign national from a hostile nation. Therefore, she was banned from air travel into the Union, and would have been banned from entry completely if she wasn't accompanied by a citizen.

When they crossed the border, they spent several days in limbo as Emily was examined by two physicians, her financial and criminal records checked, and then had a chip inserted into her hand that would dissolve after about a month. By then, after tracking her, the Union would allow her to apply for probationary citizenship.

They traveled by rail into what was now the North Region. William noticed that state border signs had all been taken down. There was no use for them anymore. Once at the regional border, Emily was detained again, examined again, had her fingers scanned, and provided a hair sample. When they arrived home, they were thoroughly exhausted.

The family house was in the ruins of an old ski resort, a modern structure with sharp angles and oversized windows. Emily had noticed the family pictures on the walls almost immediately.

"Are they the ones that raised you?" She asked.

"Yes," William answered, stepping closer to the photographs.

"Will they be here?"

"No. This was our vacation home. We came here when I was little to go skiing." William could still remember his exasperated mother, coaxing him to play outside when all he wanted was his Xbox. "My adopted father lives just a few miles away. My adopted mother is in Massachusetts. Well…the East Region now."

"They are not together?"

"No. They divorced when I was ten." William looked around the house. He'd loved how big and spacious it was as a little boy, but now it seemed empty and somber; no longer the relaxing destination of a happy family. Their voices, excited and laughing. The cold nights with the fireplace and Disney movies. William felt an ache of nostalgia for that past life.

"You're sad," Emily frowned. "This was a happy place for you once."

"It was. I think my dad may come visit. I doubt my mother will. I'm still not sure what to call them now, either."

Emily nodded and looked around. They both were beginning to realize that they would be completely alone here. Perhaps it had not been a good idea.

"There are three bedrooms," William said, blushing because 'bedroom' seemed like an illicit word just then. "The one down here is nice. There's a bathroom connected to it."

Emily nodded again, her face had also turned a light shade of pink. They stood there for a few minutes looking at each other, awkwardly, as the implication of their isolation settled in.

"I think I may read for a while and then to sleep," Emily said.

"Of course. It's been quite an ordeal."

Much later that night, William sat alone in front of the fireplace. It had taken him a couple of tries to start one as he hadn't really remembered how his parents had done it. He'd found a dusty bottle of bourbon in a cabinet. He drank one glass, then another, and he was working on his third when he felt a thick cloud of depression sink into him. He thought about Emily again and the fact that they were no longer surrounded by nuns. He thought about her after her shower in the evenings, when she smelled of warm lavender, entwining locks of her hair into elaborate, medieval-looking braids. He thought about her quiet conversations with one of the sisters in Spanish. Sometimes he could pick up on what she was saying. When he listened to her prayers he could hear his name, which usually came after a phrase of blessing and gratitude. He thought about all the times they would both look up from what they were doing at each other at the same time, for absolutely no reason, then slowly look away.

He stared into the fire, the bourbon making him feel heavy. They never acknowledged what happened at Copán again. They continued about their days, not really treating one another differently. But now…he was depressed over how this would be typical of most nights: Emily going to bed alone while William sat awake, drinking himself numb. William leaned forward, putting his face in his hands. He didn't think he could bear it - night, after night, after night of this suspension. Why did he feel this way? Why couldn't he just shut it off like a light switch? He began to wonder if it was a flaw of their kind, a genetic predisposition. He could see and feel that she loved him, too, but she was more reserved than him. It didn't seem to be affecting her as much. Perhaps it was her upbringing; the pious and self-sacrificing nature of convent life.

And the things they were able to do with their abilities now...it seemed as if the stronger and deeper their bond was, the more powerful they became. Before they left, they had pulled an ancient and rotting jeep, all covered with vines, from a mud pit on the side of the road. It had taken very little effort at all. They had stood there hand in hand as they pulled it from the mud, it made a sucking sound as it came unstuck. One of them "pushed" and the other "pulled" until the jeep was flat on the road. They had smiled at one another, proud and amazed at what they could do.

How could he not love her?

William heard a sound next to him, and looked up to see Emily standing there.

"What are you doing up?" He asked. He hoped he didn't sound intoxicated.

"I can hear you," she said, sitting down next to him.

Ah. Of course she could. All the barriers set up in his mind floated away in a sea of bourbon. He pushed his half-empty glass away from him.

William sank deeper into the couch. "I'm sorry."

He could sense her hesitation, trying to form a thought into words.

"It is not only you," she said. "I think about you, too."

Her words floated between them as they sat in silence for a few minutes. Still staring straight ahead into the fire, William reached out for her. She took his hand, staring into the fire as well.

"Do you know what we are?" She asked.

William considered for a moment. "We are what everyone will be a thousand years from now."

"Do your parents know? The ones who adopted you?"

"I don't know. If they do, they've never said so." William remembered incidents as a child, when he would become frustrated or upset and all the mirrors in the house would crack. He remembered temper tantrums as a toddler and his mother finding glassware shattered in the kitchen cabinets. He'd learned to control it soon enough, but there were always times when he couldn't.

"You told me about Sister Consuela, but did the rest of them know?"

Emily sighed, thinking. "Sister Louisa died when I was little. She had been especially kind to me. I was distraught. During her funeral service, I could not stop crying. All the candles in the sanctuary burned up in a matter of minutes. One of the windows broke. I knew that I had done it, but I don't know how they explained it to themselves. I never told them." She could still remember the wave of heat from the candles brushing against her tear-stained cheeks.

They sat quietly, each silently going through incidents in their childhood when their abilities had gotten out of their control. They seemed to be linked strongly to their emotions.

"I wish we had been together back then," William whispered, turning to look at her.

"Me, too," Emily said softly, returning his gaze.

Without thinking, and perhaps assisted by the liquor, William pulled Emily close to him. She didn't resist. He pulled her closer, their faces only inches apart. They searched each other's eyes, knowing what was about to happen, but needing reassurance. They leaned in, closer, closer, and closer still until their lips met, slowly cautiously. Then Williams's arms were around her, pulling her against him, kissing her deeply. Something broke inside them just then, releasing a liquid warmth that enveloped them both. They were bound to each other then, a bind that would never and could never break once the line was crossed.

It ends and it begins; they would not be able to stop it now.

* * *

**Anne Link Interview with William Fox Scully Mulder**

**For the Retired NAU Employee Archive: The 40th Anniversary**

**Anne Link:** Thank you for taking time to do this. Now, I have to ask for your permission for each recording. Do I have your permission to record this interview?

**William Mulder:** Yes. I'm still not sure what this is for?

**AL:** It's what we discussed earlier. The Union wants to post some interviews with retirees for the 40th anniversary.

**WM:** Has it been that long already?

**AL:** Indeed it has. So, for my notes, can I have your full name?

**WM:** My birth name was William Fox Scully. My adopted name, William Fox Holdren. My full legal name is William Fox Scully Mulder. I'm not sure which one you want to use.

**AL:** We'll go with your legal name.

**WM:** That's fine.

**AL:** Okay. So, I thought we'd start out with some basic background questions, then proceed into your time in the Council. That's my basic plan, and, of course, if we digress it's perfectly okay.

**WM:** Sounds good.

**AL:** Okay. Shall we begin?


	8. Chapter 8

**DS:** William and Emily…it's very jarring to remember your children as babies, then suddenly see them grown up. We'd missed so much, Mulder and I. They were fully realized adults, with a past, with fears, with a whole collection of memories that I was not a part of. That in itself was painful to think about. All the what ifs….what if I'd kept William? What if I'd searched for Emily? You don't have children, do you, Anne?

**AL:** No.

**DS:** I see. I guess it's hard for you to empathize, but they were, and are, my children. My own flesh and blood. I tried to love them, no matter what, and was ready to forgive them of their faults if only to keep them in my life. But some things…

[_Pause. Sounds of DS walking around the room._]

William and Emily met each other three years before they met with us. That in itself was problematic for me. Mulder and I were sanctuary citizens; we have no privacy, like any and all treasonous Old Republicans. All our information was listed in the registry. It still is. Mulder passed over twenty years ago, and it's still there. Everything about us from our blood type to identifying marks on our bodies. There's even an image of my tattoo with my entry.

**AL:** You have a tattoo?

**DS:** Yeah. I thought they were supposed to fade over time, but mine never has. It's on my back. Anyway, I couldn't understand what took them so long. They told us how difficult it was to get Emily into the country, but…I don't know. There were other things, too. Emily seemed so…I felt like there was something between them and there was something particularly wrong with her, but I couldn't place it. I just had this feeling. Of dread. Of something not right. The way they were together. I kept pushing it out my mind and just tried to be a family. We were all together, so why screw that all up? Why bring up any bad feelings?

* * *

_Private Electronic Journal entry, c. 2026, Dana Scully_

We are a family now.

I spent all day with my daughter, and Mulder took William to a baseball game. I told Mulder that William might not even like baseball.

"My dad took me all the time. It's a father and son thing," he said before William arrived. "The game doesn't really matter, it's the time together. I mean, don't mothers and daughters have a thing? Besides if he's any son of mine, he _will_ like baseball."

I like seeing him like this; full of energy, of purpose. I guess it doesn't matter what we all do together as long as we are together. Emily and I stayed here, talked for a while. I showed her pictures of my mother, and father, and some of Melissa. She was reserved most of the time, and I suppose it's the language barrier. She said she had been ill recently. She still wasn't used to the change in climate. Admittedly, the long silences between us were uncomfortable. What do you talk about with a daughter that doesn't even remember you? Nonetheless, I'm proud because she's very much like me – Catholic, a doctor. She has done well in her life.

I think I'll stay at home with William tomorrow, too. I told Mulder not to take Emily to a baseball game. Maybe they could go have coffee somewhere, go for a walk. He's nervous about it, I think. When he and William came home, they were best friends. Mulder's hand on William's shoulder, giving his son advice. The four of us had dinner and sat around together in the evening. Like a family. Like we'd always been this way.

Sometimes Emily and William look at each other, long glances that seem to be filled with something Mulder and I can't see. Does he notice it, too? I don't like how it makes me feel. I haven't said anything to Mulder about it, because what's the point? We're a family now. Right now. Isn't that all that matters?

* * *

Fall, winter, and spring.

All the seasons blurred together, because they were together. There was nothing else, there was no one else. They tumbled down, down, down into that liquid warmth, letting it course through their veins, letting the current drag them under.

After that first time, William and Emily looked away from each other, embarrassed, ashamed. It was as if the oversized windows were screens that everyone in the world watched them from, jeering, judging, and joking. They covered up their nakedness, like Adam and Eve; they covered up their hearts, they put up barriers, pulled down shades.

But it did not last long.

They returned to each other, again and again, clinging to one another, opening up, dams breaking into waterfalls that roared to life. Penetrating gazes as they loved each other, tangled limbs, breathless whispers. At the height of their passion they thought of nothing else; no one else existed. But afterwards…they wondered why they couldn't stop. After the climax ebbed from their bodies, it was only then that they worried about what they were doing. Reality gripping them like cold hands.

William sat in Council meetings, trying to rationalize it away. They're not really brother and sister, he told himself. Half-siblings. Not even that. People married their cousins in previous centuries, and that was okay, he nodded to himself. Why not this? It was okay. This wasn't wrong, he nodded at his private thoughts until he noticed another Council member staring at him, bringing him back into the present. Oh God, could they all see it? Was it written all over him?

She was the only person like him in the whole world; they were the same. How could they not need each other? Isn't that how it's supposed to work in nature? The desire for your own kind? Only they were not products of the natural world. Whatever was in them, whatever they had come from, was synthetic. Perhaps it was not of this world at all.

In the spring, William came home to find Emily had been crying. She looked as if she'd been out for a long walk or run, tendrils of her coppery hair clung to the perspiration on her neck. She was still breathing hard.

"What is it?" William asked, sitting down next to her.

Her chin trembled. She looked down, trying to compose herself. "William…."

But then he could see it, he could feel it already.

"Oh God…," he said.

"Yes…"

"We're going to…"

"Yes…," She held up the positive pregnancy test as material proof.

They sat quietly for a few minutes, turned away from each other. Should they be happy? Should they be horrified? William felt guilty because he wasn't horrified; he was pleased. After all, it was a life created out of love.

"I think we should find our mother," Emily said. "She needs to see us, to know us, before..."

William took her in his arms. "Everything's okay. Everything will work out. We're together. We can all still be a family. That's all that matters."

* * *

**AL:** Where were you born?

**WM:** The capitol of the former United States, Washington, D.C.

**AL:** I understand your birth parents are former Old Republic employees, Dana Scully and Fox Mulder. They were in the FBI together?

**WM:** Yes. I was 25 when I first met them.

**AL:** You have a sister, too? Emily?

**WM:** Yes.

**AL:** Older or younger?

**WM:** Older. She was born before the Millennium.

**AL:** Tell me a little about your family.

**WM:** I'm not sure what this has to do with my time in the Council.

**AL:** It's just some basic background stuff.

**WM:** Okay. Well, I met my wife, Madison, in the Council. She was in a different division. We married after about six months. We had three children, triplets, one boy and two girls.

**AL:** Oh my.

**WM:** Yes, multiple births run in our family. My grandchildren are twins. We just found out my daughter, Eve, is also expecting twins. Two boys we think.

**AL:** That's very unusual, isn't it? To have that many sets of twins so close together?

**WM:** I don't know…I mean, reproductive medicine has come a long way…what does it matter?

**AL:** I don't know. I just…thought it was interesting. You and your wife, you both lived in the North Region, then relocated to the East?

**WM:** Yes. But…well, we separated shortly after that, and she went back to the North. We're still legally married, but…well, we were both very young when we married. Young and foolish, you know. It's the typical story.

**AL:** Can you elaborate?

**WM:** No. I'd rather not discuss it any further.

* * *

William walked around the house, looking at everyone as they did their work. There was Ephraim and Aidan boarding up the windows. There was Eve, Emily, and Sophia talking quietly in the dining room as they wrapped up mirrors, glasses, and unscrewed all the light bulbs. There was Tamryn and Timothy, playing their game, completely neglecting their task of gathering all the candles in the house. There was Esther, arms crossed, brooding in the corner, refusing to help at all. Then he came to Madison, sprawled out in a recliner, her glass filled with so much whiskey it stung his eyes as he came near.

One more left. He hoped she would show up.

He walked over to Madison. She pretended not to see him.

"Not hiding it anymore, I see." He nodded at her glass.

"Oh, fuck you." She rolled her bloodshot eyes up at him. "If I have to be here, then at least let me enjoy myself."

He could tell she was already two bottles deep. She'd be passed out long before they got started. He watched her for a minute, remembering the woman he first saw, before her skin began to turn a greyish yellow, when her soft brown eyes were clear and alert. He still felt a twinge of guilt over what he'd brought her into, but he'd long stopped regretting any of it.

The front door opened just then, and everyone turned to look. She came in slowly, looking at each one of them, staring them down, until they looked away.

Mary.

Without a word, she shut the door, and walked across the room. William watched her, backing into the corner, time slowing down.

Mary. Her eyes glowed like blue flames. Her red velvety hair pulled back into a strict bun.

Mary. Tall and strong. Examples of her bravery and skill decorated the green gabardine of her South Region Guard uniform.

Mary. Her head held high, her heels clicking formidably on the wood floor. Fierce. Invincible. Unbreakable.

Mary. The little girl he watched silently from the window, without her knowing, spinning in the grass in her communion dress, the skirt billowing around her like flower petals.

Mary. The little girl he had disappointed too many times, the chasm between them so impossibly wide; his pride and his torment.

Mary.

When she saw Emily, her face softened back into the gentle girl she once was. "Mama!"

Emily embraced her, and they whispered together in mixed Spanish and English. Esther came over to hug her, too. They had always been close. William hung back, hoping the dark corner of the living room would hide him. Madison pulled another bottle from her bag, took one long pull before emptying it into her glass, her eyes dilated with hatred.

"Mom, mom," Ephraim came over just then. He gently took the glass from her. "Let's get you something to eat, okay?"

"Get her out," Madison pouted like a child. "Get her out of my house."

"This isn't your house," William said coolly.

"I don't care," she mumbled, the words squishing together. "I don't want her here."

"Just a little bit to eat, okay?" Ephraim looked over at his father. _Why aren't you taking care of this?_ The phrase flashed through his head, making William look away.

William met Emily's eyes from across the room and shrugged. So, they weren't a happy family. But still a family, nonetheless.

Mary's blue-flame eyes found William at last. The older she got the more she resembled her grandmother. She gave him a nod in greeting, nothing more. He wasn't even expecting that. He nodded back. At least she was here now, and they could soon begin.


	9. Chapter 9

_Private Electronic Journal, c. 2026, Dana Scully_

George and Anne Boleyn.

Napoleon and Pauline Bonaparte.

Lucrezia and Cesare Borgia.

William and Emily.

I was looking all of that up; I intellectualize, it's my defense mechanism. I do research, I analyze, and I look for facts. It's what I was trained to do, and it doesn't help this time. At least with all the others, it's speculation…

William came over, without Emily, and even before he started talking, I knew. When he sat down, his eyes sad, his face reddened with shame, I knew. I told him his dad had gone out and would be back soon, if he wanted to wait. He sat across from me, shaking his head.

"It's not….it's not, um…," he began, and then all the pieces clicked right into place. Their familiarity with each other, Emily's frequent absences these last few months for being "sick."

"No, William." I held up my hands trying to block his words. "Just don't. Please don't."

But he didn't listen.

He said, almost too slowly, almost too loudly, that Emily is pregnant, and he is the father. I covered my face with my hands, squeezing my eyes shut, wanting to shut out that moment, shut out his words, shut out his face. He'd said it aloud after all. I asked him how far along, and he said five months. _Five months._

"What the hell did you just say?!" We hadn't heard him come in. We both turned to see Mulder standing there, wide-eyed looking at William then at me. His words stung the air around us with something heavy and frightening. I wasn't sure how much he'd actually heard.

William stood up just then and repeated himself. He shook his head again, over and over, saying, "It's not…it's not the same as…it's just not the same."

"What are you saying?!" Mulder snapped, coming across the room. I stood up then, in between them. There was something in his voice that I rarely hear, but I know to be careful of it when I do.

"What did you do?" Mulder said, his voice darkening, getting lower.

"It's not the same," William said. "We couldn't help it."

"Not the same! Not the same as what?! She's your _sister_! What did you do to her?" Mulder moved closer, and I held up my hands to block him from William.

"Mulder…"

"Aren't you hearing this?!" He looked from me to William in disbelief.

"It's not the same!" William yelled, his fist coming down on the table, his voice echoed preternaturally through the house, then all the light bulbs popped. They just all exploded. All at once.

I backed away from him, back towards Mulder. He and Emily had showed us things, but this…I didn't know anything about this.

"Did you do that?!" Mulder looked around at the darkened room, shards of glass all over the floor, on side tables, lampshades with holes.

"I think you should go," I told William. He looked ashamed, tears coming to his eyes. And still I wanted to run to him, hug him, and comfort him.

"I'm sorry…I'm so sorry." He bowed his head, turning to leave. We watched him go, turning back to us as if he had something else to add, then leaving without another word.

Much later, Mulder was taking a bath. I walked in, took off my clothes, and sat in behind him.

"Not now," he mumbled. "I have a headache."

I pulled him back against me, kissing his shoulders. Oddly, it struck me at that moment that we'd never done that, took a bath together. Haven't we? Or maybe not? I don't know. He began to ramble on angrily. He said I should be angry, and if not angry then disgusted. Why am I not angry? I should be angry. I pulled him close to me, trying to get him to relax. After a time, he quieted down, leaning back against me, stroking my legs. We warmed into each other in the water, his breath becoming steady.

"It's not fair," he said. "You think you and your legs can just come in here and shut me up."

We sat there in silence for a while. Then I said that we should send a message to Emily. He didn't answer, and I thought maybe he hadn't heard me. I said it again, and he shook his head. I could feel him getting tense again.

"What's wrong with you?" He said. "You should be angrier than me. They're both yours."

I sat there thinking about it, and I'm still thinking about it: why am I not angry? Maybe because I've just gotten acquainted with them, and I don't want to lose them again. Maybe my Science Brain is trying to rationalize it somehow, like if they truly are the same, unlike anyone else, wouldn't they naturally be drawn to each other? Maybe it's because I can still remember William as a baby, and I believed he could do no wrong. Maybe it's because I remember Emily as a dying little girl who did not ask for the life she received. Maybe it goes far deeper than that. Maybe I'm just as fucked up as they are.

"Why are _you_ so angry?" I said. "Emily isn't your daughter."

He sat up, turning to look at me with the danger signs in his eyes that I'd sensed in him earlier. He got out of the tub, wrapping himself in a towel.

"I want you to say it, Scully. I want you to say that it is okay that _your_ daughter and _our_ son had intercourse, making us the unwilling grandparents of some inbred, alien, monster baby."

"They're not aliens!" I snapped, although I didn't really believe that.

"Just say it!" His voice rose, amplified by the tile.

I couldn't say it. I just sat there, unable to fight back. Unable to think of anything to say. He stormed out of the bathroom and into the bedroom, slamming the door. When I went in later, he was sitting on the bed holding the baseball cap he'd bought when he and William had gone together. He wiped his eyes, and looked up at me.

"I know why you're not mad," he said, unwrapping the towel and getting dressed. "You think this is your fault. Don't you?"

"What?"

"You gave on him. And you gave up on her. You think that's why."

"Mulder, stop it…"

"You gave him up, Scully. Emily wasn't in the casket. You gave up."

I stared at him in disbelief as he said these things and went about putting on clothes, like this isn't at all hurtful or accusing. I was so angry, so blindsided by this, I was shaking. After all these years…it comes out now.

"I gave up?" I could feel myself losing control. I could feel something, a feeling, a memory, breaking off inside me somewhere and floating to the surface of my consciousness, forming into words that came out of my mouth in a fury. "I gave up? You weren't even there! I was alone in it! You were _not_ there! You left me alone!"

It was out now. I'd said it. Remembering how alone I was when I was pregnant, that hell, that terrifying birth, and trying to care for an infant all alone, without him. How in the hell does he have the right to tell me I gave up?

We stood there, staring at each other. I didn't even bother wiping the tears streaming down my face. I wanted him to see it: see all the hurt, the fear, and loneliness I'd hidden from him all those years ago. I'd held it all in. How could he say this to me? Now? Has he been holding this all inside for all these years? Have I?

He left a few hours ago. I don't know where he went or if he'll be back. I've been writing, searching for incestuous siblings, and crying. _Why?_ It's the only question I have. For God. For whoever. _Why?_ Why did they do this to all of us? Why did they come looking for Mulder and me in the first place? Maybe they should have just left us out of it. Maybe it would have been better if they'd never come to us and we'd known nothing about them. I'm afraid that the burden of this knowledge, the pain it carries with it, is going to crush me. I'm afraid of what Mulder and I said to each other today. I'm afraid of everything and everyone. It's too much. It's too much for me.

* * *

**AL:** Oh my God. So they…they really…?

**DS:** Yes. They really did. Looking back now, I think all I wanted was for things to be normal. I wanted to just pretend it wasn't really like that and carry on as if this grandchild wasn't the result of some unholy and unthinkable liaison. I went to visit Emily. I visited her many times, all without telling Mulder. The rift that created between us…I was waiting for him to see past it, and just continue as we'd started, being like a family. Blindly. Stupidly. He was waiting for me to see reason. _Me._ I was not used to being the unreasonable one. But I couldn't shut them out. I just couldn't do it. I was a doctor, and I wanted to be there for Emily. To take care of her, remembering all too well what my pregnancy was like.

**AL:** What about William?

**DS:** I mean, I spoke to him. I guess there was no going back after what he'd told us. I couldn't look at him the same way again. I think I put more blame on him than on Emily. Her life: created to die, only to live anyway, then be dumped off like garbage…I don't know. I felt like she needed me to stay; to not turn away from her, not give up on her.

**AL:** William was with her, wasn't he?

**DS:** Yeah. He was there. I could see then how much he loved her. It made me cringe, it made me sick, but I could see the love between them. The bond. But William…he didn't...

[_Sighs. Long pause._]

Their relationship is not the reason we don't talk now. You see, no matter how bad things are, they can always get worse. They can get better, too. But for us, for me, for Mulder, it didn't get better. It all gets worse for all of us. Forever and ever, it will never get better.

* * *

_South Region Guard Enlistment Roll, c. 2047_

_Military and Naval Archives_

_North American Union Records Administration_

Name: MARY LOUISA KATHERINE SCULLY

AKAs: NONE

DOB: FEBRUARY 24, 2027

POB: NORTH REGION, NAU

UID: [_redacted_]

Rank: PRIVATE

Height: 180.34cm

Weight: 71.7kg

Eye color: BLUE

Hair color: RED

Languages: ENGLISH, SPANISH, ARABIC, AMERICAN SIGN LANGUAGE

Markings, scars, tattoos, piercings, etc.: RED SNAKE TATTOO INSIDE LEFT FOREARM, SURGICAL SCAR ON RIGHT TEMPLE

Weapon assigned: M4 CARBINE - SERIAL NUMBER: [_redacted_]

* * *

_Click, click, click._

William hated the sound.

The _click, click, click_ of his dress shoes on the polished laminate as they left the carpeted cube farm where all the analysts sat. Sam walked alongside him, and William wondered why there were guards with them; four pairs of dress shoes clicked forebodingly in the hallway leading to the teleconference rooms.

William had gotten the meeting maker in his email two days ago. That morning he'd pressed his suit, changed his tie six times, and drank two extra cups of coffee. It was nerve-wracking and exciting – the President of the North Region of the North American Union wanted to see him. _Him_. A lowly analyst.

Out of all of them – The Big Four – she was perhaps the most imposing and interesting. Julia Crow Dog, a tiny Lakota woman, had a way of making one sense her 4'10" frame was much larger. She'd altered her name to Crodog during her campaign. She'd won the election by promising all the indigenous tribes of North America she would fight for their sovereignty. She'd dropped the ball literally the second day she was in office. Whether that had been her personal choice or not, she remained popular with the native people of the NAU, who, at the onset of the new nation, watched all their past treaties and agreements with the former governments obliterate.

When they entered, Julia Crow Dog was half hidden by two monitors and she barely looked up from her phone. Seated next to her was her secretary, Julian Burns, from the former Canadian province of Quebec. Julia and Julian; what a team they made and what an opportunity they created for political commenters who often drew them together as the Wicked Witch of the North and her Flying Monkey.

William wished like hell he hadn't drank so much coffee. He could feel sweat forming under his armpits and sticking to his dress shirt. He didn't dare sit down until one of them told him to. He wondered if the other three were on the monitors or listening from somewhere. But no…this couldn't be that important, could it?

Julia looked up at William and Sam finally, nodding at them to sit. She crossed her arms and turned to Julian to begin.

"Thank you for coming, William,” Julian said. “We know they keep you analysts very busy.”

William nodded. How is it that his armpits were soaked and his mouth was dry as a desert?

"I'll get right to the point," Julian pulled out his device and swiped through it. "We know what you are."

William's heart thudded against his shirt and tie. "I'm sorry?"

"We know. It's okay, though. We're not really interested in you. We're interested in the females like you, of which there are two: your mother and your sister."

"I don't…I don't understand." William turned to Sam, who had seated himself in the corner, feigning interest in his phone.

Julia rolled her eyes. "For Christ's sake. It's all right here." She gestured to Julian's tablet.

William shut his eyes for a moment. He was a Privacy Analyst, but that privacy was for citizens not for government employees. All those blood tests when he was hired…of course they would know.

"As I said," Julian continued. "We're interested in the females. Longer life, reproductive capacity, less susceptible to illness, and all of that. It looks like both your mother and sister are slightly different from you, but in a good way."

"I'm not doing this," William stood up, expecting someone to stop him. He went to the door to leave and still no one stopped him. It had to be a trick.

"I'd sit down and listen very carefully if I were you." Julia Crow Dog's icy voice cut through him like an arctic wind.

William turned back to them.

"As you know," Julian said, his voice softer, almost apologetic. "The Asian, Arabic, and African Unions are growing. Soon they will more than equal our access to resources and military power. We need your help. And the help of your sister or your mother."

William slowly went back to his seat and sat down.

"The former governments were corrupt and made many mistakes, but they also did things to ensure global dominance, if it ever came to that." Julian exchanged a quick glance with Julia. "We'd like to clone one of them, your mother or your sister. A collection of people like them would be a very valuable asset to national security."

William didn't want to listen. He wanted to press his hands to his ears, squeezing and squeezing until his ear drums popped.

"Cloning is still illegal, I have my people working on it," That was Julia now, the ice had melted from her voice. "So we'll have to improvise, but we can do it. The whole process might take a few days to about a week. We can give you a sedative, very safe, even for a pregnant woman, and they'll never know what happened to them."

William leaned forward. "You want me to drug my mother and sister, then bring them to you for some illegal experiment to create some freak army?"

"Not both," Julian corrected. "Just one is all we need."

The room was quiet for a few minutes. Sam cleared his throat as if he might chime in, but remained silent.

"Absolutely not," William growled. "If you want to experiment on my family, you drug them and kidnap them yourselves. I'm not going to be a part of it."

Julia and Julian exchanged another glance.

"We know about your relationship with your sister," Julia said. The way she said it, relationship, like she was holding a filthy rag away from her, made William's face burn with shame. "She's what…seven months along now?"

He looked at each of them, trying for rage, but he knew they could see the fear and humiliation in his eyes. They knew everything. Every single fucking thing. Of course they did. They knew when they sent the meeting maker. They would always know.

"We were hoping," Julian continued. "For Emily. She's younger and it certainly helps that she's pregnant with your child. We're very interested to see what the two of you created."

Somehow putting it that way was worse. William felt the shaking begin in his hands, then travel down his arms into his legs. He tensed up, trying to control it. He didn't want them to see how well they'd gotten to him. "And my mother?"

"She would be fine, she is the origin after all, only she's very old. She might not survive the process. Either at the time or later, when she's returned. But we thought we'd give you the choice, as a professional courtesy."

William stood up suddenly, his chair falling back with a loud thwack. No one batted an eye. "Oh! It's good to know we are being professionals! For a minute there it seemed like this was unprofessional blackmail!"

Julia stared at him, her brown eyes flat and cold. She was unimpressed. "We're prepared to offer you a generous compensation package for your trouble: your salary, plus a 20% increase every year, for the first eighteen years of the life of your child and any children you may have. You can have a hundred if you want. It'll be deposited into a fund that you can access at any time, any place. Your children will want for nothing and will always be safe."

Before William could challenge their sincerity, Julian pushed his device across the table. "It's already done for the first two years. See? Consider it a down payment."

William stared at the figures, at all the zeros. It was legit. He could take that money, take Emily, and leave the Union forever. He could buy his own island somewhere in the Pacific. They could run away after it was all over…they did not have to stay here. "How long do I have to decide?"

"As soon as possible," Julia said. "But we'll give you until the end of the month. As we said, either one of them will do, but Emily would be the best choice."

As William left the meeting, he took a detour to the men's room. He retched repeatedly into the toilet. He took off his jacket, and loosened his tie, the clothing suddenly making him feel claustrophobic. He went to the sink to cool his face with water, and looked up at himself. He knew then who it had to be. He knew then who he would have to drug, lie to, and sacrifice. For the good of the Union; for the good of his offspring's future. He would do as they asked, then he would leave forever, and not look back.


	10. Chapter 10

_Private Electronic Journal Entry, c. 2002, Dana Scully_

We're alone and we're hunted. But at least we are together now. And I thank God, over and over, that he's still alive. After all we've been through, after all we've done…I thank God we are still alive and we are together now. Even if it has to be this way, as fugitives, as the FBI's Most Wanted and Most Hated.

I look up at him as he makes love to me. I run my hand up the center of his chest, around his neck; I grasp the back of his head and pull him down. I want him to cover me. Just cover me. With all his warmth, with all his love, with all of himself. I want him to hold me down. Drink me in. When his face is close to mine, I can see tears in his eyes. At first, I think it's because he loves me. I think it's because he's filled with so much emotion, he can't hold it all in. It touches me. I think he's going to say it, but instead he says he's sorry. He'll never leave me alone again. He'll never abandon me again, even if it means he'd lose his own life.

Is it because no one is watching now? Is it because no one is following or listening? Is it because I still worry that this will be the last time? Because we can say it now. We can tell each other the truth. With our words, with our bodies, with our eyes watching each other as he moves inside me. Can he see my truth? All the things I never wanted to tell him about or discuss. All the things I kept safely away from him. Can he see it now?

I tell him that it wasn't abandonment. Don't say it like that. It wasn't. But I don't want to talk. I want to flatten myself beneath him, stretch out, open up, sink deep into this bed with him and never come up for air. We spent too much precious time pretending, diverting, and waiting for the other one to do something. He was almost executed. There have been too many narrow escapes for us both. Can we keep the foundation strong while we build this new life on top of it? Can I keep us safe? Because it must be me. It must be me who keeps us safe now.

Afterwards, I pull him over to me. He lays his head on my chest, his head rising and falling as my breath slows. I kiss his forehead, closing my eyes, and listen to our breathing. It must be me. I must keep us alive, keep us safe. He raises his head to look at me, his fingers idly tracing circles around my stomach.

"Please don't ever abandon me," he says.

I put my hands around his face, looking in his eyes for something I'm not sure of just yet. He's always been so certain of it all. He's always led us into our work with determination, with a self-assurance that rarely faltered no matter what his superiors said to him. I think he's broken now. He has no one else but me. I see it in his eyes as he searches for my answer. He needs to hear it.

"I made a promise," I say. "I took a vow."

I pull him close to me. I take his arms and wrap them around me. I won't ever abandon him. There may come a time when I may die if I don't, but I won't do it. Because it must be me. It must be me that keeps us whole.

* * *

Emily was aware she was dreaming. Even though it altered slightly from night to night, she knew it wasn't real. Sometimes, in the dream, she's 7 or 8 or a little older. She's following Sister Louisa out to the locked storage shed in the back of the cathedral. The criminals in Honduras did not care that it was a holy sanctuary, so the stone crucifix decorated with precious gems had to be locked away before Mass.

Emily hated carrying the heavy cross, afraid of the face of Jesus, screwed up in agony. It upset her to see such torture. Emily would purposely turn the crucifix so that the eyes of the Savior looked up at Sister Louisa, not at her. But Emily would always make a mistake: she'd trip, she'd drop her end, breaking it. Sometimes the head of Jesus would snap off and come rolling to a stop at her feet, his eyes looking up at her. Could he see through to her wickedness?

That was when Emily would wake with a start, disoriented for a few seconds. She woke this time with a gasp. She looked around remembering where she was as the last images of the dream faded. Pieces of her old life, her childhood, were coming to her now as she prepared to raise her own child. And she missed the sisters. She often wondered how they were. Union networks were spotty to non-existent in the borderlands, so Emily had to write them letters by hand. She had not told them of her pregnancy. She wasn't ready, and she didn't really believe she would ever be ready. She looked in her bedroom doorway and saw William there, looking at her strangely.

"Are you alright?" He asked.

"Yes." She was still replacing all her _Y_ sounds with a hard _J_ sound. "I had that dream again."

"Oh. Can I get you anything?"

"No. I am okay."

Just then, Emily felt the familiar flutter in her womb.

"Oh!" She put both hands around her abdomen. "She is moving!"

William stepped closer, a half smile on his face. "She? You found out?"

"No. I just feel like it is a girl. It is hard to explain." Emily placed her hand over the spot again and smiled. It was a wonderful feeling: the life inside her growing stronger every day. How could she see this as anything less than a miracle, a blessing?

"She must be very strong," Emily whispered. She wasn't sure if William heard her. She looked up at him, hesitating in the doorway.

They hadn't touched each other or slept in the same room since they'd found out. Emily had had horrible morning sickness, and the baby drained her of all her energy. She slept most of the time, and when she wasn't sleeping she was nauseated. Every once in a while, she would get a burst of energy, a strange euphoria would come over her. She would feel wonderful, alive, exuberant, but then after a few days it would dissipate. William did the best he could to help. He'd bring her breakfast in bed, flowers, and any odd food combinations she craved. But they didn't touch each other. Not even a simple embrace. They both knew they would sink right back under the liquid warmth again; all these past months of aversion would come to naught.

But this time Emily gestured for him to come in. It wasn't fair that he couldn't feel their child kicking and squirming with life. She wanted him to feel the baby's strength. William walked in and sat next to her on her bed, carefully, gently as if he were afraid it would break. She took his hand and pressed it to a spot just below her naval.

"Can you feel it?"

After about a minute, he felt a tiny kick. Then another.

"Yeah! I feel her!" Before he could stop them, his eyes filled with tears. How could this have been a mistake? Why did this have to be something to be ashamed of? He wiped his eyes, then quickly took his hand away. Emily watched him for a moment. Lately, it seemed as if there was something in his mind, moving just out of her detection each time she found it, like a shadow darting quickly behind objects.

"Are you okay, William? Did something happen?" She asked.

"Yeah," he nodded. "I mean, no. Just, um…I've had a lot of work assigned to me this week. Complex things. Well, more complex than usual."

There it was again. The shadow sliding just out of her view and running to hide somewhere else. If there was something he didn't want to tell her, then that was okay. They each needed their own minds and their own thoughts. It wasn't reasonable of her to expect him to be completely transparent all the time. But he could just say so, couldn't he?

He looked at her, sensing, reading. "And I miss you."

Even though they saw one another every morning and every evening, she knew what he meant. At times, it felt like there was a canyon between them. They looked into each other's eyes as they met in the Waiting Room, the longing, tainted with guilt and uncertainty, pulsating around them. Emily slid her palm across his cheek, slowly, tenderly. "I miss you, too."

He closed his eyes, inhaling sharply. Was her power different now? Not stronger, but sharper, enhanced? Was it because she had her own, plus the power of another growing inside her? It was electric. It sank into his skin, tingling through the deepest parts of him. Was it like this for other people? Did normal people feel this way, too? She moved closer so she could place both her hands on both sides of his face, drawing him near to her.

"Emily…" he said, trying to pull away, but not really trying hard enough.

Yes and No, both pulled at them in a tug of war, both sides matched in strength, and the tension never broke. It twisted; tighter and tighter and tighter still. His breath quickened; she could feel it against her skin as they came closer, their lips within a hair's breadth…

There were three loud knocks at the door, startling them, making them both pull back, the moment gone, shattering to pieces at their feet. Emily turned away, shaking her head. William pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. They had to do something about this. He had to stop this…somehow…it must stop.

There were two more loud knocks, and William went downstairs and opened the door. Their mother was standing there.

"Hi," she said.

"Hi," William stood to the side to let her in.

She came by almost every week now, and she never looked him in the eye. She always avoided his face. As much as it pained him, what else could he expect? But today he was glad she avoided looking at him. He didn't want her to see the flush in his cheeks, the shame as it withdrew slowly, like withering vines.

"How is she?" She asked as she removed her coat and gloves, smoothing the sleeves of her blouse.

"She was taking a nap, but she had one of those dreams again."

"Well, that's normal. I had strange dreams, too…"

They both stood awkwardly as her voice trailed off. He wanted to ask her for more. He wanted to know all about her. All about her pregnancy with him. Stories of him as a baby, like all mothers tell. But there would be no stories for him.

She went upstairs to Emily's room. He could hear them talking softly. He walked slowly up the stairs and stood in the doorway, watching and listening. He watched both of them, hoping to get some kind of sign that his decision was the right one. Emily was more like their mother. There was no doubt. There was also no doubt that their mother preferred her over him. He felt a stab of envy, sibling rivalry. He'd never had to compete for parental attention before. He'd always been the only child and now he wasn't. He stood there for a long time; neither one of them seemed to notice.

Later, as his mother was leaving, she handed him a packet of pills.

"It's anti-nausea medicine," she said, putting on her coat. "It's safe. It'll help her sleep, too. She's wary of pills, but I'm sure she'll listen to you."

He watched his mother for a minute, getting ready to leave, taking the long train ride back to the East Region, a deep sadness seeping into him.

"Are you always going to hate me?" He asked, surprised he'd said it aloud.

She sighed, looking up, impatient. "I don't hate you, William. You're my son. You're…I don't hate you."

There was a pause. He waited for her to say more. She didn't.

"But dad hates me," William said. "He hates both of us. Doesn't he?"

She flicked the tip of her tongue to the corner of her mouth, as was her habit when she was annoyed or troubled. "He loves both of you. Very much. But, well, we all have different ways of coping."

"Is he home yet?"

"No." She looked him in the eye then, briefly. Her eyes were sad, defeated. "We're working on it."

"You don't have to come all the way up here. If it means there'll be trouble between you, maybe you shouldn't"

"Maybe." She was staring out the window behind him, at something he wouldn't be able to see. "That child, your child, isn't going to have an easy life. For many reasons. I think maybe he doesn't want to witness it. I think he's disappointed, too."

"Disappointed?"

"We thought you were coming to us to be our son, to be with us, to know us. That you'd found Emily and brought her with you so we could all be a family. But you just wanted to unburden yourselves – you just wanted –"

"No," William shook his head. "It wasn't like that at all."

"Three years, William. Three!" She was looking him right in the eyes as she said it. "Three years and then five months. Both of you waited all that time….I know why. I can see why. But don't pretend this is about family. Don't pretend that this was a good thing, a welcome thing. And that we're wrong for not celebrating and your father isn't here to smoke a cigars with you and pat you on the back."

William didn't know what to say. He looked down, embarrassed. He hoped Emily wasn't listening.

"I don't know," she sighed again. "I just know that this is how things are, and I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know how to deal with this. I don't know if I'm right or if I'm wrong."

He wanted to hug her then, but he was afraid she'd push him away.

"Well," he said. "I think this child will have a wonderful life. The best I can give her. And I can't make you or dad feel something that you don't. But I always knew you were out there. Even when I was little, I knew about you. I wish we'd found you under different circumstances. I wish we'd—" He shook his head. Unable to finish his thought.

They stood in silence for a while. Someone's phone beeped, but they ignored it, didn't bother to check.

"I should get back," she said finally, opening the door. "I'll see you next week."

"Okay."

He watched her leave, then stood staring at the door for a long time, his fist clenching around the anti-nausea pills until they were crushed into a fine powder.

He'd made the right choice. Now it was time to act.

* * *

_Private Electronic Journal Entry, c. 2027, Dana Scully_

If this were the old days, I'd just pick up my phone and call him.

"Mulder, it's me," I'd say, then he'd tell me he was caught up in something, and I need to come see it or help him. Or he'd want to know about some lab results. An exchange of facts and data, two partners checking in. At least back then, when I heard his voice, I could stop worrying for a minute. My heart would slow down, just a little, knowing he's okay. If he's answering his phone and talking, he's okay.

But this isn't the old days. This isn't Bureau business, and I'm not carrying around a case file. This is now, and this is killing me.

I think this is the longest he's ever been gone. Willingly, that is. He didn't take his phone. He didn't take anything. He just drove off. I know he can't go too far for too long. Our travel restrictions keep us chained to the area, so I suppose I'm more hurt than worried. This seems deeper and bigger than just anger. This is something else. And I keep thinking, although I shouldn't, that he's done it again – he's left me alone to deal with our son, my children, without him.

I don't want to think like this. I don't want to. I'll replay all the times in my head when there was certainty of his feelings and certainty of his loyalty. I have a bank of vignettes to draw from to comfort me. But it's not enough. Not now.

I thought the other day, that if I can't call him, then there's only one other person I can call. And she had to come here; she doesn't have the same travel restrictions as I do.

Monica. I opened the door and there she was. Hardly changed. The time has treated her well. We've only really communicated through texts and emails over the years. Sometimes she sends me pictures of her children. I felt selfish, asking her to come all this way, because my first choice was gone. I know she doesn't see it that way, but I still felt guilty. She sat across this table from me, listening to all of it, nodding, understanding, and patient.

"I know he's not with John," she said. "He would've told me, but I can message him." She picked up her phone.

"No," I said. "I don't want him to think there's something wrong."

"But there is."

She's right. There is. I told her that I felt like if I did something, like tried to look for him, it was making it more real. More of a problem. I don't want this to be real. I don't want this to be happening to me right now. Especially right now; we're going to be grandparents. Emily is a ticking time bomb. And that baby… I told Monica I was scared of what it might be, of what might be wrong with it. I told her about the case Mulder and I worked, long before she joined, with the inbred family. What if she comes out looking like that? Deformed. A monster.

She shook her head. "I don't think it will be like that. I mean, they're not really…," she shrugged, trying to find the right words. "Emily came from a lab, right?"

I nodded. "But they used my ova, my DNA, in that lab. There's no way around it, Monica."

She didn't have a reply. She just reached across the table and took my hand. How long has it been since someone has held my hand like that? Sometimes you don't know you miss something, need something, until it happens. She stayed all through the weekend into today. She flew back to the West Region this afternoon. She was going to stay longer, until I heard from Mulder, but I didn't let her. She has her own life, her own family. Her children are normal. They bicker and fight like all siblings do. They bicker and fight with her and with Doggett. I didn't let her call him. If Mulder's with him, then at least I know he's okay. She'll probably do it anyway, though, trying to help, trying to be a friend.

It's too empty here. It's too quiet. I want to scream, over and over, to hear something, to feel something. Has he really abandoned me again, so willingly, so easily? I can't do it alone. Not again.

* * *

William was still standing in the corner, everyone looking at him expectantly.

_We're all here. Now what?_

He was trying to sort through all the memories. Sort through all the thoughts that pierced through his subconscious, floating around, unbidden, unprocessed, unwanted.

Mary took off her blazer, setting it on the back of a chair, smoothing down the sleeves. Tamryn and Timothy looked up at her, open-mouthed and wide-eyed. They'd never seen her before. She looked down at them, smiled faintly, and turned her icy eyes back on him.

She could kill them all. Right now. Just a flick of her eyes, she could snap all their necks one by one, then leave without a second thought. He often wondered why she didn't do it, because she could – just like the birds.

She'd killed an entire flock when she was only six. He remembered him and Emily running outside when they heard her scream. There was a whole flock of crows, dead, their talons curled, beaks open.

Mary looked at them, eyes wide. "But I didn't do anything!" She cried. "I didn't do anything!"

William looked around, dead birds everywhere. It was probably only about a dozen or so, but it seemed like hundreds.

"Mary," Emily knelt down in front of her. "Tell me what happened."

"I just...I just…," her chin trembled, tears trickled down her cheeks. "They were so pretty. I wanted to hold one."

"Mary," Emily said, slowly, softly. "It's alright, but you must learn to control it. When you feel it here," she put her hands on each side of Mary's head. "When you feel it happening, you have to turn it off. Like turning off a water spout, okay?"

"It just happens so fast…"

"I know, _preciosa_. I know," she pulled Mary, sobbing loudly, into her arms.

Emily looked up at William, a feeling like dread passed between them. She really hadn't meant to do it. Had she?

They wrapped each bird in tissue paper that Mary picked out. It was for Christmas gifts, so it sparkled in the evening light as the three of them carefully wrapped up each bird, then gently placed it in a hole William dug. When they covered it up, Mary knelt over it to pray. William looked at Emily to see if she felt what he was feeling. The anxiety was in her eyes, too.

After Mary finished praying she turned to look up at them. That was when they both saw an inky, black liquid pass over Mary's eyes like dark clouds over the moon. Emily slowly put her trembling hand over her mouth. William took a step back.

"Will the birds go to heaven, Mama?" Mary asked, completely unaware.

"Yes," Emily answered, both her hands trembling. "Yes, they will go to heaven."

Mary soon learned to control it, so no more dead birds fell from the sky, but William and Emily didn't forget it. And William didn't want to remember right then, with everyone there, and Mary's death-stare right on him.

She'd been a sensitive and thoughtful little girl, afraid of herself, afraid of harming anything. So much was different about her now. He remembered when she was about 11 or 12, Emily had brought her to meet the triplets. The three of them – Ephraim, Esther, and Eve – sat out in the garden playing against each other solving puzzles. They were only 8 or 9 years old. Fiercely competitive, their thumbs moved quickly over their tablets as they swiped and tapped through each level. Mary hung back on the deck, looking at them cautiously.

"It's okay," Emily said gently. "Go say hello."

Mary hesitated, then walked over to them, her hands clasped in front of her. "Hi." She said.

Neither one of them looked at her.

"I'm Mary." She tried again.

Ephraim glanced up at her. "We know who you are. Our mom doesn't want us to talk to you."

Mary turned back to look at William and Emily, her face turning red.

_They hate me!_

_It's okay_. They told her. _Just try again_.

Mary turned back and took a deep breath. "I'm your sister. Can't we be friends?"

Eve looked up from her game. "No. You're an abomination."

Mary's face fell. She didn't know what to say. Hanging her head, she turned back to William and Emily, her shoulders sagged in defeat.

_I told you! They hate me!_

Just then, Esther popped up and ran over to Mary. "Wait!"

Mary turned around.

"Never mind them," Esther waved off her brother and sister. "My name's Esther."

"Hi," Mary said shyly.

Both girls stood for a few moments, looking around, unsure of how to continue.

"You have really pretty hair," Mary said finally. "Can I braid it?"

"Okay."

Esther sat down, and Mary sat behind her. They began chattering away like old friends. William and Emily smiled at each other. It wasn't a total disaster. Maybe they would all get along after all.

"You brought her to my house?"

William felt her hissing breath on the back of his neck. He turned to see Madison standing there. It was before the drinking had taken its toll. Her blonde hair was backlit by the setting sun. She looked almost angelic.

"They're family," William sighed. "They should get to know one another."

Madison turned to look at Emily, who'd stepped away from them, her arms folded around her.

"What are you doing?" Madison said, her voice low, accusing.

"I just think they should know about each other," William said.

The rage faded from Madison's eyes, as a realization dawned on her. She looked at him incredulously. "You – you brought her here for my son. To parade around in front of my son –"

"They're not like that!" William snapped. "Why are you even thinking that? Dammit, Madison!"

Without another word, she stormed out into the garden, her ankles rolling unsteadily on her high heels.

"Don't you touch her!" She yelled at Mary.

She pulled Esther away, smacking at Mary's hands. "Hands off! Get your hands off my daughter! Ephraim! Eve! Inside!"

The four of them walked past, Madison's eyes blazing, Esther biting her lip, glancing back at Mary. They'd left her out in the garden, alone, stunned.

"Come, Mary," Emily said. "Let's go home."

Mary walked over to her mother, and they went around to the front of the house.

"Will you some see me, Papa?" Mary asked. "At Christmas?"

"Yeah," William lied. "At Christmas."

Mary nodded sadly. She knew he was lying.

Then they were gone. He didn't see Mary in person again for another year or two. And now here she was, with the rest of his family, all of them looking at him, waiting.

"Has all the glass been taken care of?" William asked.

"I think so," Emily said.

"Do we really have to do this here?" Ephraim asked. "Can't we just go further out? Down the road a bit?"

"Of course not," William said. "This is our home, and we have more control here. We know what to expect."

"Do we have to do it at all?" That was Esther, arms crossed and angry. "It's wrong."

"It's not wrong," William said. "She's our Mother. She is the First. Everything we are we owe to her. She needs our help."

"Feh!" That was Madison. She rolled out of the recliner and stumbled out the back door into the yard, cradling her bottle of whiskey. She was far too drunk. Sophia would have to do her part.

"I guess we should go outside and get ready, then." William said. "Sophia and Aiden can read."

"Can we come, too, dad?" Timothy asked.

"I don't know…," Ephraim said hesitantly.

"Well, they can't hurt anything," William said. "They might as well learn."

"Okay, fine," Ephraim replied. "But you two stand between me and your Aunt Eve."

Timothy and Tamryn excitedly ran out the back door, almost running over Madison. As everyone went outside, William walked over to Emily, putting his arm around her shoulders.

"She came," he said. "I'm glad."

Emily smiled. "Me, too."

They watched Mary as she went out with Esther, the ouroboros tattoo peeking out from under her shirt sleeve. They all had it; it was their insignia. They each had a choice on where to put it, but not on the colors or the size. They all had to be the same in that way. William had chosen the same spot for his. Maybe they could talk about that. He could use that to start a conversation with her.

But that would have to come later. Right now, they had to do this. And even if they never saw one another again after tonight, at least, right then, they were all together. As a family.


	11. Chapter 11

_Letter to Emily Gutierrez Scully_

_Printed ink on paper, c. 2040, converted digitally 2061_

_Used with permission, DS Sanctuary Agreement, Clause 4_

Dear Ms. Gutierrez Scully:

Thank you for your application to the South Region Military Academy. After careful consideration, I am pleased to inform you that your daughter Mary has been accepted into the Fall 2040 Class!

Please find enclosed with this letter an orientation packet, fee schedule, and instructions for the aptitude tests. They must be completed no later than August 1, 2040. They will be used to determine her entering class rank.

We look forward to meeting Mary in the fall and welcoming her into one of the most prestigious military academies in the NAU. If you have any questions, you may contact me by the phone number listed below.

V/R

Marcus W. Skinner

Dean of Enrollment and Recruitment

South Region Military Academy

mw.skinner@srma.edu

(999) 555-1212

* * *

**AL:** So, I guess we'll talk about your time in the Council. When did you start?

**WM:** Well, my adopted father worked for the Old Republic. He was in the, um, the DOD, and was offered a position in the North Council once the transition was complete.

**AL:** DOD?

**WM:** Department of Defense. It was all divided up like that back then. Anyway, I basically obtained my position through him. I was a privacy analyst for about ten years, then I became a policy analyst. In those days, privacy analysts were the "cleaners." We were responsible for scrubbing all the databases and files of private information. Paper files, too. There were truck loads, shipping containers bursting with paperwork, coming in from every part of the Union. The Haitians, Jamaicans, and Dominicans were not particularly attached to the imperialist history of their islands. They wanted a fresh start. A, um, a new history. They sent us all the British and French stuff. We had a lot of cleaning up to do.

**AL:** What kind of information did you have to clean up?

**WM:** How old are you again?

**AL:** I'm 23.

**WM:** Ah, so you've never lived in a world without this. Before the NAU formed, privacy was an illusion. You could enter your name in a search engine, and there was all this information out there about you. All of it without your express consent. Anyone could find you anywhere. Images of you, that you might not have known were taken, were right there. It had all gotten out of hand. With that came a strong distrust of institutions, like government, because the government seemed to be participants in privacy violations.

**AL:** Did you find things about you?

**WM:** Of course.

**AL:** What kinds of things?

**WM:** Well…my address. My phone number. I found my college transcript once. There was no one, uh, there was no one to stop people from doing this. But we did, and it worked. I went to a protest once. Or maybe it wasn't. I don't know. It became confusing at some point to know which side anyone was on. Every one there was rolling or drunk. There was a guy dressed like Uncle Sam walking around on stilts. A Mayan, too. Or maybe she was supposed to be Incan. She'd shaved off her eyebrows, earlobes all stretched out, etchings on her teeth.

**AL:** Really?

**WM:** Oh yes. They were all there: Canadian Mounties, Iroquois, Haitian Voodoo Queens, Spanish Conquistadors, Cherokees, and Cowboys. Hawaiian girls in grass skirts made an appearance until they were stripped of their statehood and sold to Japan. It was all so cartoonish, I remember. A little embarrassing. I'm sure the drones captured all of it, and it's in the archives somewhere.

**AL:** Probably, but I haven't seen anything like that.

**WM:** If you ever do, I'd like to see it. I'm sure I'm in one of them.

**AL:** Okay. So, how did you find your parents? Was all their information out there, too?

**WM:** Well, so…the databases of the Old Republic kind of popped up to the surface of the Web. All those databases were in the deepest, darkest parts of cyberspace. Impossible to find, until the transition began. Then I guess those who were responsible were either terminated or they just didn't care anymore and unplugged all the security. It was easy, really. I already knew my parents were not really my parents. I found classified records at the FBI, found their personnel files, their medical records, and their background investigations when they were first hired. Then I took that information to other sites. That whole transition was a benefit really. Everyone could see with their own eyes just how bad it was. There are still people who believe in the old establishments and have no faith in the NAU. But I do. It was right what we did. Things are better now. The world is better for us all.

**AL:** I agree.

* * *

_Private Electronic Journal Entry, c. 2027, Dana Scully_

When I came home today, he was here. Just sitting on the couch reading like this was any ordinary evening. I stopped short for a minute. A part of me wanted to wrap him up in my arms and thank God he was safe. But the part of me that wanted to yell, like some old nag, was overpowering. So I just did nothing. I took off my coat, unwrapped my scarf, and went to take a shower. What's the point in showing him how I really feel?

I dried my hair. I put on my pajamas. I got on my tablet to confirm my travel for the day and to read in bed. The same things I do every night, with him here or not. He came to bed later, long after I'd shut off the lights. I lay there with my heart pounding, eyes wide open. It was like the time he'd been gone hadn't happened at all. Skipping through the unpleasant parts of the film.

"David and Gillian Holdren." He said.

I didn't say anything, but I turned towards him slightly, so he'd know I was listening.

"I couldn't find her, but I found him."

I guess he thought I'd ask or show interest. I didn't.

"He was in the DOD. Did you know that?"

I sighed deeply. So, it's this again. "Who?"

"David. David Holdren. The man that raised your son – "

"Our son," I snap at him. He's ours. Don't do that.

I feel him pause, caught off guard for just a moment. "Our son. His father, adopted father, he was in the DOD."

Am I supposed to be interested in this? Am I supposed to sit up and say _oh my god_ in disbelief? Or is this where I insert some of my old skepticism? Is this his excuse?

I turn on my back, but I don't look at him. "The agency handled everything. I just knew their income, their court records, criminal and financial history. I never met them. I didn't know their names."

"But the DOD? What are the odds of the agency choosing someone from there?"

"Because it was Washington. Did you forget? It wasn't _that_ long ago." I wondered if this would even be a discussion if William's adopted parents had been hippies on a marijuana farm in Colorado or something. Named Rain and River and the women on the commune didn't wear bras. Would that have been less suspicious to him?

He was quiet for a while. I turn away from him again and try to focus on something else, but that's impossible. He's home now, and the desire to feel his arms around me, or to fight over the facts, or both all at once isn't going to let me sleep. You forget, even in a short time, what it's like to have that person close to you, hear their breath, feel their warmth. It's a dependency.

"I didn't really know where I was going until I got there," he said. "I just wanted to see him, shake his hand, look him in the eye."

He senses what I almost ask half a second before I do. "He doesn't know," he says. "He doesn't know about…Emily…about…"

"Does she?" I ask.

"I don't know. I don't think so. He hasn't seen her in a long time. He told me he isn't really sure where she is."

We let that sit for a minute, and I wonder to myself if they should know. I'd forgotten about them, and how self-centered is that? They only raised him, fed him, sheltered him, protected him, and provided for him for the last twenty-five years. Shouldn't they know?

Mulder begins to tell me about the pictures. David Holdren had a photo album, which he should. The Other Dad. Mulder tells me about William's grade school pictures, the ones in middle and high school where he wore only black and looked somber. The ones with bright smiles at birthday parties, family vacations, and junior prom. A pretty girl on his arm. Social media filters that made the pictures look old, or bright, or enhanced the blue of his eyes. I closed my eyes and wished he would stop, but I wanted to know. Because we missed it all. We missed it. We missed the dentist appointments, arguments over bedtime, the changing of his voice, his graduation. Infant. Child. Man. We missed the gaps.

Mulder is behind me, as he's always done. Curling behind me, his chin on my shoulder, arms around me, and his breath in my ear.

"He was normal," he whispers, almost to himself. "Just average. I don't know what I was expecting him to be like."

"We should tell them," I say. "They should know."

He hesitates, threading his fingers through mine. "They should. But I don't think we should be the ones to tell them."

I guess we're okay now. I don't feel like demanding, nagging, or clinging. I feel like I don't want this to be the last time. Precious. All these moments of our lives, so precious, so short-lived.

"When are you going up next?" He doesn't want to ask, but I know his walls have come down.

"I don't know," I reply. "The weekend? Emily and I go to Mass sometimes.

"I'd like to see her."

Forgiveness. I reach up to touch his face, the relief I feel as he pulls me closer. Love and forgiveness, hand-in-hand, forever entwined. It's all we can do. I turn to face him. It's dark, but I can feel his eyes probing into mine. He wants to see if I'll say something. Something cold and hard from that last conversation that still hung between us. I say nothing.

One in five billion…more than that now, but he's mine, too.


	12. Chapter 12

**DS:** I have it here.

_Sounds of DS going to the bookshelf, pulling out a book, and pages turning._

**DS:** See?

**AL:** Oh. [_reading_] Mary Louisa Katherine Scully. Born February 24, 2027.

**DS:** Yeah. I write them all in here.

**AL:** That's your birthday, isn't it?

**DS:** Yes. I turned 66 that day. And I don't remember anything else from that day except her.

_More sounds of pages turning._

I counted her fingers. And her toes. [_laughs_] I checked to see if she had a tail. I just wanted to make sure. She was a normal baby, but I knew that didn't mean anything. William was a normal baby when he was born, too.

**AL:** So, she was born early.

**DS:** She was. Not too early to be that dangerous, but they had to keep both of them for a couple of days. Not long. They were both fine.

**AL:** Where is she now? Mary?

**DS:** I don't know. She's in the Ceremonial Guard, I think. In the South. I guess she travels around with the SRP.

**AL:** The presidential guard?

**DS:** Right. Well, she's down there. I think she's actually killed people. They sent her to military school when she was about thirteen or fourteen. And, well, I guess they're bred to be part of the Guard one day, aren't they? I'm not sure of her rank.

**AL:** I could find out.

**DS:** Don't do that.

**AL:** Mary Louisa Katherine?

**DS:** Louisa was the name of a nun that Emily was especially fond of. She added Katherine for me. Sometimes I think she hadn't intended on that until after I showed up. Either way, all life…it's a miracle. When you can detach from circumstances, it's all so…like how can anyone not believe in God? When you hold a child, your own child, your grandchild, so perfectly formed in your arms. I can't explain it to you properly. I wish I could, but…the love. Instantaneous. I wish I'd spent more time with her as she was growing up, but, well, you've heard it all now.

**AL:** How was Mulder…how did he handle all that?

**DS:** He didn't really try to bond with Mary much. He wasn't cruel to her, but…maybe he was scared of her. Emily and Mary stayed with us for a bit, then eventually Emily was able to get her own home and apply for a license to start her own practice. After that, Mulder never saw Mary again.

**AL:** I can understand why you call it a burden.

**DS:** Can you?

_Long silence._

**AL:** I'll come back tomorrow, then?

**DS:** Stop talking to me as if I have a choice.

**AL:** I'm sorry.

**DS:** But not tomorrow, though. We have that banquet for all the Old Republicans. If we don't go, then they'll just stop doing them. So…I need to be there. There aren't many of us now, but I guess they'll continue until we're all dead.

**AL:** Did Mulder used to go with you?

**DS:** Yes. But then he died.

[_End of recording._]

* * *

William remembered when he was little, curled up in bed in his X-Men pajamas. He must have gone to bed super early that night, because it wasn't night yet. The blue evening light was still shining lazily through the curtains. He could see the slit of yellow hall light under his bedroom door. The lingering smell of food from dinner, and the muffled sound of the TV downstairs. It comforted him. It meant everything was okay.

He was in the place in between sleep and awake, hypnagogic state, when he saw the pale arm come into view. Then another. They reached back behind his head, only it wasn't his head. It just looked that way. A necklace came off from around his neck, the fair-skinned hands gently placed it in a box. He got a glimpse of her eyes in the mirror on the lid of the box before she closed it.

He opened his eyes, sat up, and looked across the room into his own mirror. It should have been him in the reflection, but there was a girl looking back at him. Sitting up in her own bed, like him. The corners of her room were dark except for lamplight by her bed. He should have been scared, opening his door, running down the stairs to his mother and father, screaming about the strange girl in his mirror. Any other kid would have done that. Instead, he got out of bed and stood in front of it. The girl did, too. Her red braids wrapped around her head, she could see him. She wasn't afraid.

They say scent memory is the strongest memory, but it's touch for him. When he raised his hand to reach out to her, it stopped, touching the mirror instead. He would always remember the glass against his palm: smooth, cold, slippery. He was confused. She's right there, yet his hand stopped. She tilted her head, looking puzzled, too. She raised her hand to his, but they couldn't feel each other. Maybe that's why he didn't get scared: the glass was there between them. This must not be real.

After a minute, her eyes began to wander, and she idly turned away from him, like she was bored with the game they were playing. She went and got back into her bed, so he did, too. The Girl in the Mirror. It didn't seem so unusual to him back then. William liked to think about that. It was nice memory, soft and comforting, like being wrapped in fuzzy blankets on a cool night.

He thought about it, and shared it with her, when they'd been together.

_Do you remember this?_

_Yes, I remember._

They had to concentrate on one another. Gently turning her face forward, bringing her eyes back on his.

_Keep your eyes on mine._

It was the only way to shut off the flowing tap of shame. They'd seem to have come to some kind of agreement: if we shut it off, just for now, then it doesn't count. We will turn it back on later, after this. After we've done this. We will think about it then.

He could see inside her. She opened up, like Shiva's throat, and the Universe emerged to engulf him. What it was like to fall inside someone, helpless and in love; other people, normal people, did not experience this. He was certain.

He was thinking about it all now, with her head heavy on his shoulder; it slowly rolled back as he shifted to put his fingers on her neck. Her pulse was slow, but steady. The sedatives were safe, after all.

He got up, gently letting her fall back against the cushions. It had been simple. She trusted him. She didn't question the cloudy glass of water that he said the anti-nausea pills had been dissolved in. It wasn't a total lie. He'd mixed some of it in. This didn't bode well that he could deceive her like this so easily. He decided to worry about that later.

He tried to put on her coat, then gave up when her limp arms wouldn't cooperate. He pulled a couple of blankets off the bed and wrapped her in them. He put on her boots as if she'd be walking anywhere. He was ready to lift her up, when, as an afterthought he got her rosary, tucking it down into the folds of the blankets. He lifted her, then stumbled back; she was much heavier now. He carried her out into the cold, out to the car where Sam was waiting.

Sam got out to open the door, pushing his glasses up his nose. "Jesus, she looks dead. Is she dead?"

"Shut up and help me."

They put her in the back seat, and William got in on the other side next to her. Sam drove them down the mountain, snow banks several feet on either side of the road. At least they might block anyone from seeing.

William felt her pulse again when they were out on the main roads. It was the same. Sam looked at them in the rearview mirror.

"For the record," he said, "I think you all should leave after this is over. They didn't really mean it when they said they only needed one."

William checked to make sure her rosary hadn't fallen out. He wasn't sure why he'd brought it now. Seemed stupid now. She wouldn't be awake for any of it.

"Did you hear me?" Sam was smoking. He favored the electronic ones, thin and silver, where the tip lit up red as if it was real, _eMorley_ scrawled on the side.

"Roll down your window and shut up," William said, looking around. It was late, and there weren't many cars out. But headlights made him nervous. They felt like spotlights on a dark stage.

When they got there, Sam and William showed their credentials at the gate. The guards seemed completely oblivious to the unconscious woman laying across William's lap. Someone's told them.

Sam offered to help William carry her, but William refused. He wasn't going to let her go until he had to. He carried her down the halls until they found Julian Burns, waiting for them, smiling expectantly. Of course Julia Crow Dog wouldn't be here. Let the Flying Monkey do all the shady shit.

When one of the technicians took her from his arms, he felt his throat close and his eyes sting. He watched them take her in another room, and through a window he watched them lay her down on a hospital bed, unwrapping the blankets, the rosary fell to the floor. Another technician picked it up and placed it carefully in her hand. Behind him, Sam and Julian exchanged glances. William could see them in the faint reflection on the glass.

"One week," William said. "If you're not finished, too fucking bad. One week."

"Well..," Julian began. "We're working with a primitive setup. If we need one more day…"

William turned and walked over to him, slowly, leaning into his face as if he might kiss him, searching his eyes intimately.

"I'll squeeze your heart until it stops," he whispered, almost lovingly, his breath grazing Julian's lips. "If you keep her just a second longer, if you harm her or that child…right in your chest, where you stand. Until it pops and your veins explode inside you."

Julian's face paled. He swallowed.

"One week." William whispered again.

Julian said nothing. He looked over at Sam, who just shrugged, then back at William. Was he really capable of that?

William went back to the window to see her one last time before they left. They were feeling around for veins for an I.V. They'd exposed her stomach, getting ready for an ultrasound, when her eyes fluttered.

William blinked.

They fluttered again.

Again.

She turned her head. No one in there seemed to notice. He watched her lashes part slowly, she licked her lips.

Oh. Fuck.

She was looking up, then looking around. She squinted at the harsh light. The technician with the needle froze.

"Shit," Sam said.

Then she saw him.

"William?"

He couldn't really hear her, but he could read her lips. He backed away, tried to duck out of sight.

"William?!"

The technicians were around her now. They would have to hold her down to sedate her again.

"William!"

He backed away. He was caught. Spotlights shining all over him.

She was fighting them now. "WILLIAM!"

"Go!" Sam yelled. "Go now!"

And so he did. He ran away like a coward, his name echoing down the hall. She was pounding on the walls.

_WILLIAM!_

He stopped abruptly, collected his thoughts, his breath, his courage. She was awake now, and would remember. He turned back, but he seized up suddenly, his legs buckling, tumbling to the floor. There was a sound, metallic, abrasive, it tasted like steel wool across his teeth. He plugged his ears, until he realized the sound was in his head. If she couldn't scream in his face, she would scream in his head. It was spiked, uncoiling, and writhing inside him. Her distress made him twitch violently, blood trickled out of his ears.

"WILLIAM!"

Sam's face, but no sound came out of his mouth.

"WILLIAM!"

There was someone else there, too, but it all shrank into a small square, it zoomed out from his vision, growing smaller, smaller, until it was black.


	13. Chapter 13

_Private Electronic Journal Entry, c. 2027, Dana Scully_

Is it necessary that I keep a personal record of everything? I rarely go back to read any of it, and when I do it's usually the nice memories. The happy ones that make me feel like life can still be a wonderful thing. I skip over the bad ones, scrolling right through them, the words blending together as if I can't get through it fast enough. I don't delete them. These things happened, and one day I might be brave enough to relive them again.

I am wondering now about this entry: will this be a good memory or a bad one? I think I'll just go in order, everything I can remember, every detail, just in case I want to relive it again someday.

Mulder and I had that banquet. I dressed myself in the only ball gown I own. I've worn it every year. I don't think anyone notices or cares. The peachy pink straps on my shoulders shimmer as I carefully insert my earrings. They are real diamonds that my mother gave me. They twinkle at me like her eyes when she would smile. I pull my hair over my shoulder and frown. I've just let it grow over the years, and I usually leave it loose for these things. But I decided to put it up for that night. I tried to fix it in the only fancy way I really know, the way my mother used to arrange it for Melissa and I for special occasions. High on my head, with twists at the crown and the sides. I pin everything into place and take a look at myself.

I've never really been vain, but I wanted to look beautiful. For no reason at all, really. Just so I can. I watch myself, and try to see if I can find her: Special Agent Dana Scully. She is a ghost now. I thought maybe I got a glimpse of her, dressed in a dark suit, head held high, pushing a strand of red hair behind her ear. Agent Scully is a treasonous, insignificant retiree now. She chased aliens but she is the alien in this new nation that punishes her, tracks her, and restricts her. I turn out the lights and she fades away into another time. I go out to the living room, the tulle at the bottom swishes as I walk; it flares out like a mermaid's tail.

Mulder sat on the couch, drinking a beer, switching channels from sports to news. His bowtie isn't done. He always has me do it for him. I bend down to put on my heels, the only pair I have now. He sees me and does a double take, the bottle nearly sliding from his hands to the floor.

"What?" Although I knew what. I can still do this to him, and I don't even try to hide my smile. He comes over, and I tie his bowtie. I can feel him watching me, something boyish and shy in his eyes.

I look up at him finally, smoothing out the tie and his collar.

"All done," I say.

He kissed me then. It was sudden, I barely had time to kiss back. There's a jolt between my legs; it surprises me. I see the headlights coming to a stop in front of the house. The Union sends limousines to our homes to drive us there. I don't really know why. I guess to make us feel like we are somewhat important. Or to make sure we aren't home so they can search our things for signs of treason and betrayal. We are not private citizens with rights, and they never let us forget it.

The limo has lights in the undercarriage to make it look as if it's hovering over the pavement. I walk outside towards it, Mulder following me with the bottle of beer still in his hands.

"Hey Scully, what do you say we skip the after prom party and just go right to the hotel room?" He says this, then I take the beer from him and put it back inside.

The driver gets out and waves a wand over us, then we get in. There's another man in there already. He wore a white tuxedo in contrast to the deep brown of his skin. He smiles as us. "Ready for another one?"

"I'm ready for the unregulated alcohol," Mulder says. There's an ice bucket filled with wine and beer in the center of the seats. He takes a beer and opens it, his gestures exaggerated, as he stares at me in defiance.

"Dana Scully, FBI," I say, as I hold out my hand to the man.

"James Nichols, CIA," he replies as he shakes my hand.

The limo makes a few more stops and the seats fill with men and women from all over: NSA, CIA, ATF, DHS, IRS, DEA, EPA. An alphabet soup of acronyms. I can't remember all of them. Some of them I remember from years past, but we are mostly strangers. I wonder to myself if Doggett and Monica feel this way when they go to their banquet. If they go at all.

All of us make our introductions as the limo merges on I-77 from 81, headed towards the former Carolinas. Of all the things the Union preserved, it was interstate numbers. Highways have barely changed at all.

Someone started talking out the ridiculousness of it all. How we are guilted and forced into this recognition, only to be told that our mismanagement of the old establishment is what makes the Union so great. That's the point of this after all: thank you for your service, but you fucked everything up. Thank you for letting us fix it.

The DEA guy pulls out a bottle of pills. "I know a way to make it more bearable."

Leave it to the DEA.

I can tell from the color of the bottle that they are illegal. The bottle is passed around. I hold the yellow pill between my fingers, conjuring up my medical training. I don't know what it is. What does it matter? There are no drug tests for us. I chase my pill with a glass of wine and hand the bottle to Mulder. He took one, too.

After that, things started to get weird.

We all sat at the same table. As soon as each of them, The Big Four, came on the screens to give us some kind of backhanded tribute, I started to laugh. It was uncontrollable. I pressed my hands to my mouth to stop it, but I couldn't help it. Everyone else begins to laugh with me. James Nichols, CIA, holds up his glass, filled to the brim with gin. "To the Republic, for which it stands!"

"One nation, under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all!" We reply and roar with laughter.

I felt good. I felt alive. There was a buzzing in my head, like a live, electric wire that wove its way into each part of my body. At some point, a steward came over to tell us to quiet down. I don't know what I said to him, but his face reddened as he walked away.

I start to get dizzy so I leave the main room, and wander outside. I got a cigarette from someone. A real one. The smoke hits the back of my throat, and I can feel it sting, coating my lungs. It was incredible. I stare up at the sky. The stars looked too big, twinkling rose-gold. I remember thinking about if they were real. I couldn't take my eyes off them. I was still staring and smoking when Mulder comes out. His eyes are dilated black, a thin line of blue around it, like an eerie eclipse. I know mine are just the same. He turns me around and runs his fingers down my back. I gasped at how it felt. A warmth spreads up from between my legs. It shocks me.

He rests his hand on the middle, where my tattoo is. The back comes down low on my dress. My hair usually covers it. I'd forgotten about it.

"Let's go somewhere," he says, taking my hand.

We run off. I remove my shoes, my bare feet slapping against pavement as he takes me to one of the limos. We get inside, breathless, laughing. He gives the driver a bunch of dollar bills and instructs him to take us into one of the nearby cities. I don't know how much. I forget who replaced who. Lincoln, Washington, and Hamilton are gone. It's Toussaint-Louverture, Guadalupe Victoria, and Macdonald now.

"What -," I started to say, but he puts his fingers on my lips, then on his.

"Shhh! It's a secret."

"Oh. A secret," I say, then we giggle at this conspiracy, this secret mission.

The driver pulls us up to a tattoo parlor. I remember Mulder's coat around my shoulders because I started to get cold. I watched him as they shaved his arm, then applied the stencil. The needle buzzes to life as it begins to work on the outline. He turns to look at me, feigning pain, but I know it doesn't hurt. They had to have seen our eyes, knew we were not in the right of frame of mind, knew we were under the influence of something.

A girl walks into the room, her hair was a rainbow, metal rings around her lips and eyebrows.

"Look at that one!" I said and pointed. She sticks her middle finger up at me, and both of us just laugh.

"Hold still," the irritated tattoo guy said. He changed colors to fill in the red.

Somehow we got back home. I think there was more laughing at nothing, more drinking. Some of my memories are blurry. I unbuttoned his shirt, unraveled the bandage. He held his arm up to my back in the mirror.

"There it is," he said.

It's exactly the same as mine, colors and all. I turn to him and press my hands against his chest.

"You feel different," I said.

"I am different."

We both inhale, exhale. I know it's the pills that's creating this tingling heat, the dopamine, serotonin, and norepinephrine zapping inside our skulls. Everything is enhanced. I push him down onto the bed, he breathes hard, his chest rising and falling. He puts his hands around my waist, leaning his head against me. He slides a hand up my dress.

It goes up. I'm trembling.

It's never been like this.

He says my name. Over and over again. It doesn't sound like him. Over and over again.

Up more.

Then he stops.

I felt like I was out of my body, watching from the corner of the room, as I sat on top of him, pinning his hands over his head. He's squirming, impatient. My dress came off at some point, it was ripped in a way that can't be repaired, so I'll have to get another.

I'm not sure how many times, but it was more than once. More than twice. I was sore later. Where did he end, and where did I begin? We peel away all the layers, exposing them, until we are at the beginning of it all. I don't think about anything else, I don't think at all. I receive. I am burning flesh, and it converges at the white-hot point where he enters me. He sucks in his breath, hissing through his teeth. I must have said things to him. I don't know what. I'd be embarrassed about it now. It drives him; it makes him insane with lust. I just remember it wasn't enough. As soon as I am satiated, I want more. The layers have been ripped away, and it's just us.

Everywhere. We were everywhere. It's never been like this. The molecules inside me burst. I grip his face, his black eyes a swelling abyss as they disappear into mine. He brushes my hair from my forehead. It was pulled down at some point. It sticks to the sweat on my face, on my neck. We lay there, catching our breaths, watching each other.

It's never been like this.

He took my hand and put it against his chest. His heart hammering away as if it wanted out.

"This," he said. "It's this."

I'm still trying to catch my breath. I'm lost in something, and I can't think of any words.

"This is where it began," he said.

I nod like I understand, but I'm on the verge of something. Like I might start another giggling fit or something equally inappropriate. Was I starting to come down?

But I don't laugh. I lay there with him, watching the light come through the curtains. I stare at him and he stares back at me. I don't want to take my eyes away. I'm afraid he'll disappear. I rub my fingers over the raised skin of his arm.

"You're a part of me now," he says. "Forever you are a part of me."

That's when I cry, rolling onto my back, sobbing like a maniac, pressing the heels of my hands into my eyes. He pulls me into his arms until I'm silent. Until there's nothing at all, but him. I should have said it, but the moment has passed. He is a part of me, too. Forever a part of me. Except he doesn't have forever.

And I do.


	14. Chapter 14

There was black, then there was light. Bright light. Stinging light.

It hurt his eyes. He let them adjust.

When he tried again, opening his eyes slowly, a panic smashed into him, taking away his breath. There was a beeping sound, increasing in frequency somewhere.

"Lay back down."

The voice was familiar, but slightly distorted like it had been artificially slowed. William didn't listen to it. He started pulling at things that were stuck to him, that were under his skin.

"I said lay back down!"

Sam's face came into view and William thrashed a little as he tried to pull a needle out of his arm. It hurt.

"William! Stop that!"

_WILLIAM!_

That's what it was. That's what had happened. It's clear now. All of it.

He tried to sit up, but the rush to his head forced him to lay back down. Sam's hands were on his arms.

"You can't leave," he hissed, his voice still distorted. "Not now."

William looked around. He was in a hospital. How did he get here? He was on the floor, he remembered that, he couldn't hear anything except…it was like the sound of death, of Hell; the screeching and yowling of millions in torment.

"I don't know what happened," Sam was saying, his bug-eyed glasses looking down at him. "You had some kind of seizure. There was blood all over your face."

William willed himself to sit up again, but he was too weak, and Sam had him pinned.

"I'm going to go get a nurse. She can plug all this crap back into you. I'll just say you fell out, okay?"

"Where is she?" William asked, weakly. He was afraid of the answer.

Sam's eyes softened, his cheeks red. He looked down for a minute. "Promise you won't try to get up again?"

"Okay."

Sam unpinned him and sat down on the bed. "They had to try and sedate her again. Julian went in and told them to just get a blood sample. Anything. I guess she, she was just too frightened, under too much stress, then seeing you…she must have done something. You know," he gestured to his head. "One of the technicians, she was bleeding from everywhere. I don't think she's going to make it."

William's eyes were too dry, and he was too drugged for tears. "So, it was a failure? Are they going to make me bring her back?"

"She's, um…like I said it must have been fear and stress," he took a deep breath. "She went into labor."

The words echoed around the room in Sam's distorted voice. William sat up then, no longer weak, no longer dizzy. Sam tried to hold him down again, but William pushed him away. He jerked the needle from his hand, a tiny spurt of blood came out.

Sam moved by the door to block him. "What are you going to do? She saw."

"Give me your clothes," William said.

"William, she saw you. You really can't think – "

"Give me your fucking clothes!" William's voice blared around the room, as if he'd spoken through a megaphone; a glass by the bed shattered and the lenses in Sam's glasses exploded. Sam groaned, stumbling forwards, eyes wide as blood trickled down his cheeks. William took his head in both hands and slammed it against the wall. He watched Sam slide down the wall, unconscious, to the floor. William's veins throbbed with adrenaline and rage as he took off Sam's clothes, changed into them, put Sam in the bed, and then walked out. Out of the room, out of the hospital, whining red sirens pulling up to the doors made his ears ache with pain. He covered them from the harsh sound as he ran out of the lot out towards the train station.

Halfway there he stopped to vomit, then he listened for her. He cycled through frequencies, but she wasn't there. She wasn't dead. Neither one of them were dead, he could sense that. But she wasn't there; she was "off."

He took out Sam's phone to look for the tracking application. All Old Republicans were tracked, except for the ones that served the Union. He needed to see where his parents were, if they were home. He couldn't imagine they'd be anywhere else, but he had to see if his dad had returned home. He boarded the train to the East Region, pulling the coat around him, his body shook violently as withdrawals from the pain medication began. All the sounds of the computerized announcements and doors shutting hurt too much. He found a tissue in the coat pocket, ripped it up, and stuffed it in his ears. His hands shook as he tapped through the application making him tap the wrong icons and having to go back over and over. He cursed with impatience. At last he found them, but they were not at home. He expanded the screen so the building name would show: The Exhibition Hall.

What were they doing there?

It didn't matter, he decided. Both their dots were together, which meant his father had come back. He'd be there in just a few hours, and maybe by then the withdrawal symptoms would stop and he could come up with something to tell them without actually lying.

* * *

[_Recording resumed, 1:37am_]

**DS:** I'm sorry I keep making you come back like this. It just gets into my head, and I can't sleep.

**AL:** It's okay, Dana. This is your story.

**DS:** You don't need to go through your whole thing. I agree. I agree to be recorded.

**AL:** Okay.

**DS:** So…that day, the day William came to us, wanting our help finding Emily…I didn't know, you know. I didn't know the extent of it at that time. We only knew he'd taken her somewhere because he'd been threatened. He found her through, um, through—

**AL:** Telepathy?

**DS:** Yeah. Mulder and I had been up the night before. We, um, it was a strange night. A long night. So, we were disoriented, and I can't remember everything. His ears were bleeding, bloody tissues coming out of them. We found her in a hospital, near the North/East border. I guess she'd just been dumped there by those people, like she'd been dumped out in Barbados.

**AL:** I can't imagine anyone in the government doing such a thing to anyone.

**DS:** She was out when we got there, sedated. They took Mary to an incubator. I yelled at everyone, I remember, like I was the only doctor in the room. I lay there next to her until she woke up. She was hysterical. I don't know if she understood where she was. She was screaming for William, just over and over.

**AL:** Where was William?

**DS:** I don't know. Mulder went to look for him, but he just left. I don't know where he went or why. It was cold all that day, it snowed a little. There was a storm coming, I think. So, Mulder and I had to go get everything. She never had a baby shower or anything. I thought he would refuse, but where else could she have gone? We put her and Mary in this tiny extra room we had. It was just enough room. Our house seemed big until they were there, then it felt too small.

**AL:** You lost contact with William then?

**DS:** Yeah. No. I saw him another time after that. Then not again until Mulder died.

* * *

In her dream, Emily enters the cathedral. It's the old one, before a drug gang ransacked it. She walks up the aisle, a veil of black lace over her face. Through it she can see the Holy Virgin, above her is the Savior. The fabric drags over the stone with a hushed skimming sound. There's a throbbing sound coming from somewhere, like a bass. But is it coming from inside her or outside her? What is that other sound? A buzzing, like thousands of bees buzzing slightly off pitch.

_Emily!_

He's trying to get in, but he can't come in here. This is her sanctuary. This is hers.

_Emily!_

His voice is jarring, a sudden volume increase in her ears.

She walks up the aisle, looking at black lace candlelight. Black lace Mary. Black lace Jesus. She kneels down, and prostrates herself, arms reaching, fingers outstretched.

"What have you come here for?"

It's Sister Louisa. She says it in English, but there is no language here. There is no pain. Emily turns her head to see her, standing to the side of the altar, her smile kind.

"I don't know what to do," Emily says.

Sister Louisa has switched to the other side.

_Emily!_

"I don't know how go on," Emily says.

"Pray to the One that has loved you. Loved you before you were born, loved you as He died, loves you even now." Her lips don't move, her smile stays. Her voice like bells, like ocean waves, like spinning planets.

"But I wasn't born."

"You have a mother. God gave you life. In that way, you were born."

Sister Louisa moves behind her.

"You don't know what I have done." Emily's voice is layered echoes, a sigh, a heaving breath.

"It is not for me to know. It is for the One that knew you before you were flesh. The One that offers mercy."

_Emily!_

He can't get in. He's panicked because his strength is waning, a silver-white slice of moon, dissipating, losing to darkness. It comes back, it fades away, a never-ending cycle. She can't keep the thought away: his hands against hers, the exchange of heat and energy. Their power. His face, magnified. His face close to hers. The love between them, melting and flowing, a warm tide at her feet.

Back, she would lay, forward he would come.

He wasn't vulgar. He wasn't obscene. He gave to her, and she to him.

_Keep your eyes on mine._

"How can I forgive when I am unforgivable?" Emily is on her knees, pulling the veil from her face.

"Forgive as you have been forgiven. Forgive as He forgave those who betrayed and executed Him."

"Take me with you! Take me to Him! I don't want to be here!"

Emily's words are lost in the expanse of the sanctuary. Sister Louisa is gone. There's no one here. Emily rocks back and forth on her knees. The candles have all gone out, leaving her in darkness. The faint scent of incense pulls her back to a time when devotion and sacrifice were comforting, when it was all there was.

The palms of her hands begin to ache and she looks down to see her fists clenched, her nails digging in. As she opens them, she sees a circle of blood in each one. Blood comes out and up, it uncurls like tendrils of hair towards the ceiling. Then it spurts upwards, like a geyser, the blood sliding across the apex like flames. She follows it with her eyes.

_Emily!_

She can feel it drain from her as she falls forward, weakness overcomes her.

_Emily!_

His voice is a grumble of thunder now, rolling away over the horizon.

She's too weak. She's too tired to fight. And there is nothing now.

There is nothing.


	15. Chapter 15

_Private Electronic Journal Entry, c. 2027, Dana Scully_

I haven't had time to write in a while. I remember this with William – no sleep, always having to be "on." There are three of us; we should be able to manage it better than this, but Emily is not herself. She's here, but she's not. She's a shell, automatic; something has left her. She goes through the motions, but she's not engaged in any of it.

I thought it must be post-partum depression. She goes to Mary when she's hungry, but…she stares out of the windows for hours. I see her doing it when I wake up and before I go to bed. She didn't bathe for a week. She hardly eats anything. I heard crying one day, and I thought it was Mary. But it was Emily, sitting in front of my bedroom mirror, her hands on it, crying hysterically. I pulled her away, and she fought me, reaching towards her reflection in desperation. I heard her one night, saying her prayers in Spanish, kneeling in front of a crucifix. She was crying then, but it was silent. Tears coming down her face, her voice robotic. I went in and knelt down with her, to pray with her. I don't know if she knew I was there.

I know what is hurting her. Or, rather, I'm afraid that I know the real reason. Does she know all of it? Does she know he had a choice? Because he did. Me or her, and he chose her. She must know. If they can communicate with each other, read each other's thoughts, then she must know that. I haven't asked her or talked about it with her. But wouldn't she know? How can she still need him so much after all of that?

Because I know now. I know all of it.

I went up to their home to get all her things. William had already packed it all up, ready to go.

"You could have let me do this," I said to him

"I knew you would come eventually," he said, staring to the fireplace. There was no fire in there. It was cold and dark in the middle of the day. "I knew you'd keep her there, with you."

"She wanted to be with us," I said, pulling up a suitcase. "You have no right at all to be angry about it."

He stood up and came over to me, grabbing my shoulders.

"They said it would kill you," his eyes are pleading with me, they're red and swollen. "I didn't want it to kill you."

"Nothing can kill me!" I shout it. It echoes off the ceiling back down to our ears.

I suppose now that I've said it out loud, I should accept it: nothing can kill me. Whatever they would have done, I would have survived. Cancer, viruses, bullets, carnivorous plants, abductions, childbirth. I have survived it.

He looks down at me. He wants me to understand, but I don't. I don't at all.

I start taking each suitcase out, one by one, to the car.

"What were they going to give you?" I ask him before I leave.

He says nothing, staring back into the dark fireplace again.

"You actually had three choices: me, her, or neither of us. They must have promised you with something in return or threatened you in some way."

"They knew about us," his mind seems to go back for a minute, leaving now, and going back. "They knew we'd…about…Mary. And they were going to pay me. Or make some kind of fund. I was going to use it for Mary. And for all of us to leave the Union." He looks up at me. "_All_ of us."

Money and fear. A double headed monster that can motivate anyone to do anything. Even the most level-headed, reasonable people have succumbed. I know that I have. He's young still; he doesn't know things yet. But it doesn't fit here; I can't empathize.

He puts his head in his hands. "It would have killed you."

"You don't think they would have killed her? Or Mary? Then blamed it on some accident?" I walked over to him, standing front of him so he has to look at me. "I know these kinds of people. I know what their promises are worth. _That_ has not changed."

He says nothing.

I go to leave and pause there at the door. I wait for him to say something. Please say something I can take with me. Give me hope. Is this really all I'm going to get? Are we really going to part like this?

He comes over to me and puts something in my hand, a rosary. The beads are hand-carved, the cross sculpted from clay.

"Mother," he says to me, smiling at me, the warmth radiates. "My mother."

He wraps me up in a hug then. He's so tall, my face is against his chest. I just stand there. I don't hug back. I don't know if I can.

He walks up the stairs, goes into a room, and shuts the door.

I drive all the way back, surrounded by luggage, unsteady and shifting all over the seats. I pull out the rosary. It's rustic. Made with care. Made with love.

"Son," I say to no one. "My son."

* * *

"We'll have to wait," William said, taking his eyes away from the telescope.

The stars literally had to be aligned for this. Orion's Belt would need to be further South, a trivial distance from where he looked, but it made an enormous difference out there.

Everyone sighed at once, annoyed, except Madison. She was passed out on a lawn chair, her mouth open in a haphazard O, the neck of the bottle still clenched in her fist.

"We have to do it right," William said to them. "We are passing this on. We are the New Genesis, and it has to be done _our_ way."

"Gen-ah-sis!" Tamryn and Timothy shout, then giggle.

"I'm going inside," Eve says, pressing her hands into her lower back, waddling back to the house.

"Me, too," Ephraim says as he follows her, taking Sophia's hand.

"Gen-ah-sis!" The twins repeat, laughing.

They all went back in, except for William, Emily, Mary, and drunk Madison. William noticed Mary looking at Madison, and he could feel her: the uptick in her heart rate, the temperature in her body rising. The rage.

She stared at Madison without blinking, her eyes glowing in the night like cat's eyes. If Mary ever went homicidal, Madison would the first to go, he was sure of that. As long as Madison was still living, then the rest of them were okay. That is, if she wasn't trying to kill Madison already; slowly twisting her organs, snipping capillaries in half. Bit by bit, a slow death.

"It might still work," Emily says, looking up at the sky.

"We can't afford might," William replies. "It _must_ work."

Emily went over to him, linking her arm in his.

"Gen-ah-sis!" They heard it from inside and Sophia telling them to stop it.

Mary's unearthly eyes were looking at them now, at her parents, at her mother and her father. William looked down; he hated looking at her eyes.

"I'm glad you're here," he said, but he knew she could see inside him. She could tell he was more afraid than glad.

She said nothing. She blinked slowly, watching them.

"I saw you," William began. "On TV, um…with the SRP. That was well done, I think." He looked from Emily to Mary. "I think it was well done this time."

Mary turned her head, looking at him sideways, a hint of a smile on her lips. "Weren't you so proud?"

"I'm always proud of you."

Mary walked towards them, but her were eyes on his. It burned. The power in her is tremendous. Without her, they couldn't do it. She knew this, he could see it flashing in her mind: without her, they are only halfway there. Without her, they would fail. It would have been catastrophic.

She stopped in front of them a few inches away, looking from him to Emily. A tall silhouette in green, blending in with the pine trees behind her, M. SCULLY in black thread sewn into a white patch.

"When she landed in Uruguay," Mary said, smiling. She's perfection when she smiles. "We escorted her to the capitol."

"Yeah," William replied, smiling back. He felt Emily's arm tightening around his, a warning. "I thought the ceremony was nice."

Mary's smile deepened. "That. Was not me."

A breeze came through. Madison turned over on her stomach, dropping her empty bottle on the grass.

"I was sent to the islands." Her voice was a smooth alto. It reminded him of Lauren Bacall or Bette Davis, consonants clipped, vowels rounded in the Trans-Regional style they're taught at the academy. "Hurricane Florence. I was there assisting with evacuations."

Emily looked at him, shaking her head slightly. _She was not there! That wasn't her. I told you this!_

"Oh." When would he ever say the right thing? Would there ever be a time when she would forgive him? And how could he confuse his own daughter with some other red-headed woman? It was stupid, pathetic.

"And yes," Mary said, looking over at Madison, then back at her father, leaning in confidentially. "Yes, she would be the first to go."

She turned to leave them, walking back inside.

"Gen-ah-sis!" They heard it as she opened the door, Ephraim and Sophia telling them to be quiet.

Emily leaned her chin on his shoulder, pulling him close. He returned her embrace, laying his head on top of hers, breathing in the scent of her hair.

"And then I'd be next," he said quietly.

The yard was silent except for Madison mumbling incoherently in her sleep, and a warm breeze rustling through the pines.


	16. Chapter 16

_Private Electronic Journal Entry, c. 2028, Dana Scully_

I got Emily a prescription for an SNRI. She can't get them herself yet. I thought for a while they were helping, because she started eating more. She'd take Mary outside in the yard, singing to her in Spanish. But one day I went into her room and asked her if she wanted to come with me to take Mary for a walk. She lay there in the bed, deflated, her fists clenching the covers. I asked her again, and she wearily turned away from me, covering herself with the blankets.

I started counting knives, razors, and any kind of pill in the house. I started hiding things. I'm not worried about Mary, or me, or Mulder. I want her to talk to me. I want her to know she can be open with me; she can tell me. I try to think about them, their connection, but I don't want to think about them like that. I don't want that to enter into my thoughts. But I want to understand, I want to help.

One night I was up late. Too late. I'm not sure what I was doing. Writing maybe. Mary must have been sleeping through the night for once. I see Emily leave her room in her nightgown, she walks outside slowly, as if she's in some kind of trance. I follow her, and watch her as she goes out into the yard.

There's a slight slope down towards the tree line. I watch her from the window as she smooths down her nightgown and sits down on the slope. She carefully pulls her hair over her shoulder and lays down. I can see the top of her head from where I stand. Smooth, shiny, coppery. I wish I could go inside it; I wish I could see her thoughts.

I start to go out to her, but I hear the back door open and Mulder goes out there. He looks down at her for a minute, then he sits next to her and lays down, too. I open the window a little. I can see the tops of both their heads. It looks odd; grey-brown and copper on green.

"What are we looking for?" He asks her in his Agent Voice. Calm, clinical, and trained.

"Angels," she says, after a time.

"You believe there are angels out there?"

"I want to believe."

They say nothing for a minute, a breeze goes through their hair.

"I do, too," he says.

"I belong out there," she says, her voice low, measured. "I want to return. I want them to come for me."

"Why?"

Another breeze. I hold my breath.

"I can't do it," her voice cracks with emotion. It's haunted. It's on an edge, faltering, slipping. "I cannot live…I cannot live without him!"

I think: I need to go out there now. He's going to say something she doesn't need to hear. Something unhelpful. I can't see their faces, but I hear her sniffing. Her body shudders from the turmoil in her heart. It hurts me. I can almost feel it, too. He takes his hand from his chest and reaches over to take hers, tightening his fingers around hers.

I wait for a second. Several seconds.

I watch top of his head turn.

"If anything comes out of that sky to take you away, then they will have to take me, too." He lifts up their hands. "Because I'm not planning on letting you go."

I watch her head turn to look at him. I wished I could have seen their faces, the exchange between them. They both look up at the sky in silence. Emily has stopped crying. I look up there, too. Somewhere up there are her two fathers. That's where they came from, isn't it? They took their DNA, they took mine, and they spliced and melded it all together to make her. They didn't expect her to live. They didn't expect her to survive and have a child of her own. She was a mistake. A botched experiment.

I decide to leave the window, because this is their moment; a father/daughter moment. I sit up in bed later and try to think. I try to take it apart and put it back together again: she cannot live without him. She'd rather die. Mary isn't enough. We are not enough. This isn't sustainable. What do I do with this? She must know. She would have to know all of it. I lay it out clearly; the facts, what I know, what happened. There are pieces missing and that troubles me, but this is the result. There's got to be more to this, more that I don't know. Are they still communicating with each other somehow?

A few days later, I see her out there again in the middle of the day. She was sitting up, though. I go out and sit next to her. She's pulling at the ends of her hair, pulling apart split ends. She doesn't notice me at first. When she does, she gets up.

"I'll go in with Mary," she whispers.

"No," I tell her, taking her hand. "Mary's fine. Mulder's inside."

Reluctantly, she sits back down and continues stroking her hair, braiding and unbraiding, until she tires of it, putting her hands in her lap. Is she going to talk to me? Is she going to confide in me?

I start to remember her as a little girl. I remember the sick little girl I wanted to save. I remember her face as I took off my necklace and gave it to her. I remember her looking up at me, and I thought she was Melissa's daughter, the connection between us in her eyes.

But she was mine. My heart swells with pride. She's mine.

I watch her shut her eyes now, squeezing them shut. Her shoulders shake as loud cries erupt from her mouth. She puts up a hand to cover them, and I pull her over to me. Her head stays on my shoulder until my blouse is soaked with her tears, until the storm passes, and she is calm again. I take her inside with me. I wipe her face, wipe away her tears. I brush her hair. I make her some tea. I set her down on the couch, and I go get Mary. I put Mary in her arms, and I sit down next them.

The moment consumes me; the three of us there together. Mothers and daughters. It's a dream; it's a miracle. How could anything be wrong with any of it?

Mary grasps Emily's finger, holding on. She makes a joyful sound, and Emily smiles down at her. She looks up at me, understanding, remembering. The familiarity is there again.

"Thank you, mama," she says.

I kiss the top of her head and sit there with them for a long time. They're all I need to see, all I need to know. This is enough right now.

I don't say it, but I think it: Daughter. My daughter.

* * *

**DS:** We had Mary's baptism. I guess I didn't really needed to invite so many people, but I thought maybe it would help Emily. She needed to feel loved.

**AL:** Who was there?

**DS:** Well, Mulder and me. Monica and Doggett. I invited Skinner. Walter Skinner. I told you about him, right?

**AL:** Yeah.

**DS:** He went through a lot of trouble to get here. He got out before the transition. He went to Denmark, I think. Since he wasn't a citizen, he couldn't fly into the Union. So, he flew down to Guatemala and we had to find a citizen he could come in with. We asked William's adopted father, David, and after going through all that trouble, I thought he should be there, too.

_Pause. AL's phone chimes._

He didn't know about Emily or Mary. I guess William either stopped talking to him or just left all of that out. Skinner was walking with a cane by then. He looked so different from what I remembered. He was just so old and fragile. He stayed with us for a while, after all that mess to get in, I guess he just figured he should stay a while.

**AL:** Do you think –

**DS:** That was the last time we were all together. I guess it really was. The last time I was with all my friends, the people I trusted. Skinner died a few years after that. Then Doggett was next. Then Mulder.

**AL:** Can you talk about that? About Mulder dying?

**DS:** Well…

**AL:** I know it's hard for you. I know that –

**DS:** Yes, it's hard. He's all I've, I've…um…

_Sounds of DS getting up and walking around the room._

I thought…that it would have to be a big thing, a great thing to bring a man like him down. He survived so much. The things that we went through, what we saw, all these near-death moments…it would have to be something big. An asteroid coming out of the sky. Something like that.

_Long pause._

But it was a little thing. Tiny. He bent down one day to tie his shoe and a blood vessel exploded in his head. Then it just got worse from there. That one thing, that one little thing, caused so much in such a short time.

**AL:** Were you with him?

**DS:** Yes.

**AL:** Were William and Emily there?

**DS:** Yes. They…he spoke with them before. I wasn't in the room. They, um, each had a moment with him alone. I don't know what they said to each other, but he forgave them. I know that much. He loved them both. He really did. After all that mess, after all they did, what William did, he loved them so much.

**AL:** Is he buried in the Old Republic Memorial?

DS: Yes. Well…not exactly. He changed his Will several times after our Bureau days. We both have had one since then. They suggested that we do because of the nature of our job. At first it was cryogenics. He kept it that way for a while, then he changed it to cremation. He never wanted to be buried. He was once…I think it bothered him: being buried and waking back up alive. So, he decided on the Resin.

**AL:** Oh, I've heard of that. My grandparents want to do that, placed in it holding hands.

**DS:** Yeah. Such a tiny thing…he deserved something bigger. He deserved something…

_Sounds of DS intermittently walking around followed by long silence._

**AL:** I can come back.

**DS:** No. Stay. Please stay with me, Anne.

**AL:** Of course I'll stay. Anything you need, Dana.

* * *

Anne walked across the university campus, her phone chiming away. It was three in the morning, quiet and dark on a week night. She looked at her phone and swore. It was him again, Dr. Wells, wanting the interviews. They'd been due two days ago, but she'd been putting him off. Didn't he ever go to sleep?

She took the elevator up to the third floor and unlocked the lab door. She hated leaving Dana Scully alone after making her relive so much grief. Anne had waited until she fell asleep, let herself out, and came straight here. She was going to have to do this now before she lost her nerve. Because right now, right at this minute, she had the power to do something.

The archivists had brought in and refurbished about a dozen laptops and desktops from the early Millennium. The one Anne used was from 2006, and it was terrible; slow, and just all around awful. But it was the only one compatible with her recorder. Her knees bounced up and down with impatience as she booted up the laptop and waited to log on. How did people put up with this shit back then?

Her phone chimed again and she took it out of her bag.

_Can you bring them by at 8?_

Anne hesitated a minute. She could just pretend she'd gone home and gone to sleep, then pretend she hadn't gotten his message until later. Ooops. I'm sorry. I was very tired. We were up late again talking. Silly me. Silly, stupid Anne.

When the log in screen came up, she typed in everything, irritated at how slow and complicated it was. People did things so dumb back then. She pulled out her recorder and opened the editing software. Her phone chimed again.

_Where are you? Are you in the lab?_

Anne froze.

There were no windows in here, but she'd left the door open, the light spilling into the hallway. She quickly got up and closed the door, locking it. Did he see her? Was he following her now? What the hell was wrong with him? Hasn't this poor woman been through enough?

She let the recorder load the files into the program, then put in her earbuds to listen. When she got to the spot, she highlighted the sound waves and played it again. Usually she muted anything that needed to be redacted, but this entire part would have to be cut out and the two unmatched pieces blended together perfectly. She listened to Dana Scully's voice, some background noise, and there was the faint sound of the trains, too. Miles away, but the recorder had picked them up anyway. That was important. She was going to have to cut it at just the right time. She moved the highlighted portion around until she was sure she could cut and blend without it being noticed. Next time maybe she could turn the recorder off without Dana noticing, and she wouldn't have to do this again.

Her finger hovered over the delete key. Once this was done, there was no going back. Dr. Wells had drilled that into their heads: once it's gone, it's gone forever. Her phone chimed again, and she picked it up and threw it against the door. The case popped off and the screen cracked as it shut off.

Motherfucker.

Enough of this.

She sat there and stared at the sound waves for a minute. She was getting ready to make a decision that she shouldn't have to make. What if he can tell? What if she doesn't blend it right and he knows she took out something? He would just remove her from the project and replace her with someone else, right? That's really all he can do. He'd call her an idiot, yell at her, and remove her. But he still wouldn't have this.

Anne shut her eyes for a minute and turned away from the screen. Please, please, please let this be the right and honorable thing. She turned back, opened her eyes, and pressed delete.


	17. Chapter 17

_ **LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT** _

_ **OF** _

_ **FOX WILLIAM MULDER** _

_I, Fox William Mulder, resident of the East Region of the North American Union, being of sound mind, not acting under duress or undue influence, and fully understanding the nature and extent of all my property and of this disposition thereof, do hereby make, publish, and declare this document to be my Last Will and Testament, on this day of 16th, in the month of October, in the year 2039. I hereby revoke any and all other wills and codicils heretofore made by me._

_Private Electronic Journal Entry, c. 2041, Dana Scully_

I called them and we all decided that it was best if it was just us. No grandchildren, just us. I sent a message to Monica so she'd have enough time to get a flight in. I wished that Doggett and Skinner were around still. I wish I had everyone here with me.

William went in first, then Emily. I don't know how long they were each in there with him. I don't know what was said, but they both looked at peace when they came out. Resolved. They sit down together after, affectionate, and loving. I don't know what's happened there, and it does nothing to me. I don't feel bad about it, like I should, it does nothing to me.

_I. **PERSONAL REPRESENTATIVE**_

_I nominate and appoint my beloved wife, partner, and best friend Dana Katherine as Personal Representative of my estate, real property, intellectual property, and overseer of the remainder of my pension. I leave her one half of my pension, to be paid in full upon my death, and all of my intellectual property, seizured and free, as the NAU allows._

I go in to him. I lay down next to him, putting my hand over his heart. It's slow, irregular. How many times have I done this? My ear has been there, too. My lips. There's a scar there, a bullet wound. My fingers brush over it as I lay there with him to see him out. So he's not alone, so he can leave us in love, and return…to where? That's not the time I want to be having those thoughts. I needed to be there, right there, right now, because it was going to be the last time. God help me, this is the last time.

_II. **DISPOSITION OF PROPERTY**_

_I devise and bequeath my property, both real and personal and whatever situated, as follows:_

_I leave William Fox of the North Region, NAU as my Son with the following: one quarter of my pension, paid in full upon my death; my files, electronic and paper, for personal or archival use; and my father's files for personal use._

I watch him, I count his heartbeats, I count his breath. I remember things, I hear things, like hallucinations. He saved me. I saved him. Love and truth. Love and forgiveness. Patterns of our lives, winding through a maze of complexity only to unite at the end again and again. I love him. I have always loved him. When I stood in our office, my arms crossed, refusing and disbelieving, I loved him then. I loved him when he left me. I loved him when I left him. I want that time back. I want to cup it in my hands, breath it in, drink it, taste it, and let it thread through my veins, vivid with color and emotion all over again. Because there's nothing I would change. There's nothing I would change about him at all. From beginning to end, there is nothing but him and me. Nothing but us: alive, dying, saving, loving, fighting, in silence, in fear, in danger, from beginning to end. We shared ourselves, we shared our lives, we created life together, we created him in love. From beginning to end, there is nothing left but that: love.

He opens his eyes a little, I think he's going to try to say something, but he just looks at me. He knows I'm here. He knows I will be with him. He knows he is not alone.

_I leave Emily Gutierrez of the South Region, NAU as my Daughter with the following: one quarter of my pension, paid in full upon my death; my mother's jewelry, photos, and personal papers for personal use._

I counted the days of his life: 29,167. Is that all? It should be millions. It should be more. Not enough; never enough. I stared at that number written on a piece of paper until it was blurry, until the lines looked as if they were moving, until my eyes dried out and turned red. 29,167. And how many of those days did we work together? How many did we spend in danger? How many did we spend as outlaws? How many did we spend apart? How many did we spend in love? Falling in love? Making love? Falling out of love? Then back in love again? How many? I want to count it out, divide it up, and have it all charted out like data. Because this is all I can do. I don't know what else to do. I must be useful in this way. I was always useful in this way. I liked the roles we played, until we didn't need them anymore. It was perfect. Perfect balance, all our lives, from beginning to end.

_I leave Ephraim Scott, Esther Anne, and Eve Lynn of the North Region, NAU as my Grandchildren with the following: one third each of my FBI paraphernalia, badges, and memorabilia, divided up by their parents as they see fit, for personal use._

I don't know how long I was there with him before his heartbeats began to slow down and he started taking these great, gasping breaths. What did he see? Did he see anything? Did he hear anything? Was Samantha there, her arms open wide to welcome him? I kept my hand on his heart. I waited. I wanted to give him my breath. Give him more time with me, because I'm selfish. Make him linger here in pain so I can have just a few more seconds.

I listened to the last exhale. I take my hand away when his heart stops.

This is the last time.

_Lastly, I request that my remains be interred in Resin, directed and prepared at the discretion of my beloved wife, partner, and best friend Dana Katherine, and that I be put to rest in the Old Republic Memorial alongside my companions and friends, Walter Skinner and_ _ John _ _Dogget__t._

He went in peace. He went in love. I can be grateful for that, can't I?

I watched them as they prepared him for the Resin. They were waiting outside. I stood there while they washed him and smoothed the gel over his skin.

"Ma'am, eyes open or closed?"

The gel makes his skin shiny. It's like he's just gone to sleep and he'll wake up tomorrow.

"Ma'am?"

I hold my breath. "Closed."

They gently close his eyes and sink him into the orange-amber liquid. It dilutes the color of the snake on his arm, eternally consuming itself. They seal the glass and pump out the air so the outer shell will harden properly. People choose all kinds of colors for that stuff now, but he didn't want anything weird. _Him_. Not wanting anything weird.

After they take him away, I stand there for a long time looking at where he was laying. I put my hand there. It's still warm.

And so. My eternity begins. Without him, it begins.

_Now_.

He called me his Touchstone. His Constant.

"And you are mine," I said. I see it all again, it replays, I rewind it, playing it back. I want to live it and breathe it again. Oh God, can I just go back to that, just for a minute? But no one who ever says that really means "just for a minute." They mean hours, days, weeks, a lifetime. All those moments of our lives, from beginning to end. I didn't want it to end. I wanted it to stay open forever, like a case file, like an X-file, unresolved, no end in sight. This is meaningless. This is cruel. They at least could have done it to him, what they did to me, to make me resistant to death. Why couldn't they have done it to him, too? 29,167 days are not enough. Not enough time for this, not for what we'd become together.

Much later, I come out and shut the door. I think Emily has left, but I found her asleep on the couch later. William has fallen asleep outside the door, laying there in the middle of the hall. I nearly trip over him. I sit down next to him, looking at him. Like this, from this angle, he looks like him, Mulder. He looks like his father, peacefully sleeping, his mouth open just a little. I guess he didn't want to leave me alone. I put my hand gently on his arm so I don't wake him up.

Fourteen years. I can see he's gotten older. Something around his jawline and his eyes. I haven't seen him in person in fourteen years. I lay down in front of him, watch him sleep. How many days left for him? For Emily? Are they like me? I should spend these days with them. No matter what they've done, I am their mother. I will always be that. And now, they are all I have left.


	18. Chapter 18

_Private Electronic Journal Entry, c. 1999, Dana Scully_

We still haven't talked about it. I know that he wants to. I can see it in his face when he pauses before kissing me, looking at me, searching and questioning. I turn away because I don't want to talk. If we talk about it, then it becomes something. Something we'll have to acknowledge, discuss, and deconstruct. Something we'll have to face coming to an end. Because it will one day, won't it? We can't continue to be the same we've always been after this. Five years is a long time to wait. It's also a long time to love.

It's new, but it's not. It's fragile. We hold it carefully in our hands, protecting it, sheltering it, keeping it warm and safe. How badly did he want this to happen? Because it was me that started it. It's always me. I feel like I'm the weakest one because I initiate. And I don't want to talk about it. I just want to be with him, here, now, in this way, with his body against mine, his breath warm on my neck. Can't we just stay like this?

We're always quiet. At least until it becomes impossible to be quiet. I think we are both thinking there's someone watching or listening. Tiny cameras in light bulbs. Recording devices in the lampshades. It's possible. And if they are watching, if they are listening, what do they see? What do they hear?

Do they hear him whisper my name? _My_ name. I'm not Scully in these moments with him; I'm Dana. That changes it somehow, revealing something about him to me. Do they hear what we say to each other until I'm tightening and clenching around him? Do they watch his hands as they go up my back, grabbing my shoulders, and pulling me down so he can have more of me? Can they see me, opening up, taking all of him in as deep as I can? Can they see his hand, gripping mine as it builds up inside us? I wonder what we look like. I wonder if they can tell; if they can see the love between us as we breathe it in and taste it on each other's lips. Because it's there. I know it's there, warming the air around us. Wrapping us up, entwining us, and trapping us inside it. We don't need to say it to know this, to feel this, to want this.

If they can see, if they can hear, then they know what he and I already know: we can't exist without each other. We can't be apart. We've drowned inside it, we've let it consume us. It should be our greatest weakness, but I think it's our greatest strength. We'll fight harder now to keep this between us. We'll need each other more. It will be harder to keep us separated now.

Why does it need to be a discussion? Why does it need to be broken apart and analyzed? I want to be lost in it and never find my way out again. In those times when we are together, everything else disappears. It fades out, and we are the only two people in the world. I wish we really were. Nothing to distract us. Nothing to chase us. Nothing to deceive and manipulate us.

The truth is here. The truth is growing and expanding inside us. The truth is that we were put together for a reason, and that reason is clear now.

* * *

_Private Electronic Journal Entry, c. 2041, Dana Scully_

I haven't cried yet.

Not at all, and I don't know why. I think all those times before has spoiled this for me. I keep thinking someone will call and say he's opened his eyes and he's alive. This isn't real. He's alive and well, like he has always been.

Monica and I boarded the train to the Center together. She takes my hand as we leave the East. It feels like my ring is cutting into her skin. I found my wedding ring and put it on. I haven't worn it in years, but now I feel like I should. I should never take it off again. I put it on and held my hand up, remembering that night. Remembering him calling me his wife. I closed my eyes and watched every second of that night in my memory. The only other people that were there have been dead a long time. I'm the only one left now. It's up to me to remember.

The train takes a couple of hours. It would be faster by plane, but the Union shut down all the airlines except for one, and I can't travel by air. In each tree, each building that passes by, I can see his face. I can hear his voice. How can this be real? Am I alive right now? I pinch the back of my hand and watch my skin pop back into place.

I am alive, and this is real.

I am a widow.

We approach the Center, and I can see robots that look like spiders crawling all over the wall. They're carving in citizen's names that have passed. People pay for that. They go to a website and click a few buttons. We can't do that. There's a special place set aside for us inside here, set in between fields of corn and cannabis. A place for Old Republicans to be looked at like artifacts. A museum.

We walk inside, and I know I won't be able to do it. I won't be able to go in there and see him, with Skinner and Doggett, hanging in suspension like prehistoric insects. I can't do it. Last time Monica and I were here, she broke down when she saw Doggett hanging there. She fell to her knees, crying, shaking with grief. People milling around, looking at the dead like we looked at Egyptian mummies, stared at us as I helped her up and took her out. I know how she feels now. The finality of it. It's a helpless feeling, an empty feeling.

We take an elevator down, because it's underground and the stairs take too long. It's cold down here, and our ears pop as the pressure changes. In the entrance there's the hallways to Canada and the United States to the left, and Mexico and the Caribbean Islands to the right. Monica walks down the US corridor. She's braver than me, she loved just as much as me, but I can't do it. I've seen dead bodies. I've cut them open and examined them. I could detach and compartmentalize as long as it wasn't someone I knew. As long as it wasn't someone I loved.

Emily and William are there. They stand when I walk into the chapel, tears in their eyes. They are looking at me expectantly, as if I'm going to say something, something profound to mark this occasion. But I can't. This can't be real. This can't be final. What do they want from me? He's gone. This is the last time.

I look past them and see a girl peeking out from a doorway. Shyly, cautiously. She looks familiar.

"Melissa?" I can't remember if I said it aloud or not.

She comes out of the doorway, hands clasped in front of her, her eyes cast down. Emily puts her arms around her, bringing her over to me.

"Mary, do you remember your grandmother?"

I do the math in my head. She's fourteen now. Fourteen, and already taller than me. Fourteen, and showing promise of beauty. Her hair has grown out from when they shaved it at the academy. They bring them in, take away their identity, their gender, their past, and then allow them to earn it back again. Her hair has lost the brassiness of her childhood and has grown in a cool burgundy. I would not have recognized her at all.

She looks up at me quickly, then back down again. "Hello."

Her eyes twinkle like starlight when the sky is clear and there's no other lights around, as if there's an entire Universe in each one. I'm amazed this is her. After too many years, I think about when she was born. I thought she'd be freakish.

Emily looks at her, tilting her head, nodding, urging her to do something.

Mary takes out a box wrapped up in a bow and gives it to me. Inside it is a necklace with two fishes joined together.

"It's Pisces," Mary says. "Because we have the same birthday."

I look at the necklace. It's gold with the two fish's eyes set with jewels.

"Yeah," I say to her. "We do. Thank you, Mary."

I look at her, and I want to hug her. But I don't know her at all. Mulder died without ever knowing her. When did he see her last? Why didn't I try? I should have at least tried to see her more. I should try now. Time passes by so fast, and I should know more than anyone how precious time is.

Mary smiles, but keeps her gaze down. Behind her and Emily, I see Madison and the triplets, the four of them in black, sitting in a corner. Madison is my daughter-in-law, and I don't even know her. Something's happened between William and her. They haven't said one word to each other since I've come in, and they don't even look at each other. She's scowling, but when her eyes meet mine there's sympathy there. She protects us with her silence, and I don't even know her. The triplets come over to me, and I can't tell which one is Eve and which one is Esther. They have their mother's eyes, brown and wide-set. Ephraim is easy to pick out. He looks like William probably did at his age. Not that I would know for sure.

They tell me hello, then look back at their mother. She nods at them. They each give me a rose and tell me they are sorry and that they love me. I don't know them either. William has sent me pictures of them, but I don't even know their birthday. How old are they now? Ten? Eleven? I feel guilty that I don't know my own grandchildren. I feel guilty that if I saw them out in a crowd, I would pass by them without even knowing. Why must children grow up? Why did I ignore everyone? They are here now, for me, and for a grandfather they barely knew. Yet, I've given little effort into seeing them. I feel horrible about it. It weighs me down. I've handled this all wrong.

Everyone is watching me. They expect something from me. They expect me to say something, but I have no words. I have no wisdom to share. I don't like how everyone is looking at me, feeling sorry for me, so I excuse myself and go outside. I stand there in the sun and find it annoying. Days like this should be cold and rainy. No sun, no singing birds, nothing going on as normal. Let everything stop today. Just for today.

Eventually, Monica comes out there and hands me her electronic cigarette.

"I thought you quit," I say to her.

She shrugs.

I take a drag from it. Then another. Then another. Electric tobacco, making my throat tingle and swell. What is this world we live in?

We stand there for a while, taking turns smoking, looking at the field across from the chapel where Old Republicans are buried. I see the Mexican flag on some grave stones. Canadian. American. Cuban. Jamaican. What is this world we live in?

"He looked peaceful," she says to me.

I see something out of the corner of my eye and I turn to look. In between two maples I see a woman standing there. She's dressed in back, a wide-brimmed hat and sunglasses. I shut my eyes for a second then look again, but she's gone. She looked familiar, but I can't place it. I'm still not even sure if I saw it. Am I hallucinating now?

"They all looked peaceful," Monica continued. "It wasn't so bad this time."

I look at her. I know that was hard for her, and I thank her for going in for me. I'm just not ready yet. I don't know if I ever will be ready.

My legs begin to feel weak, so I go sit down on a bench. Monica sits with me and we say nothing for a while. I can feel people watching us from inside. But they're not just people, they're my family. They are all here because of me. They are all a part of me. And I just sit out here, away from them, ignoring them. What's wrong with me?

"We're the only ones left, aren't we?" Monica asks.

I'm sure there are still FBI people living, but as for those we knew and worked with, we are the only ones left. Then there will just be one of us. I start to feel dizzy, and I take her hand. _One of us_. She's going to leave me one day, too. It's inevitable.

"Will you stay with me?" I beg her. "Please stay with me a while. I don't want to be alone."

She pulls me over to her, wrapping her arms around me. "Of course. As long as I can. I'll see if I can get a bereavement extension."

I think that might be when I'll finally start to cry, but my tears are frozen in my eyes. I can't. What's wrong with me?

We get up and go back inside. I have to know them. I need to know them, and they need to know me. My grandchildren, none of this, none of what Emily or William has done, is their fault. But I treated them like it was, didn't I? Mulder and I have four beautiful grandchildren, and I want to spend time with each one. If I can take something good out of this with me, then it must be this.


End file.
